Toby seemed about to answer, but there came instead a sharp surprise. Coles himself was upon his feet, just as when he had once before been frivolously nominated as captain of Rugger, and he was looking round them brazenly, as if by making a bold show he could effectually hide the fear that was in him. And this was the fear. Towards the end of last term it had become common knowledge in Seymour’s not only that he was sending a fag to get whisky for him from the town, but that, although he had been the prime instigator in the affair that had brought Roe expulsion, he had made no attempt whatever to help Roe or to alleviate his heavy share of punishment. In point of fact, he had slunk off. The school had begun to realise this and Coles knew it. The fear that it might possibly prevent his unanimous election as captain had troubled him during the holidays, but at such times he had found comfort in the fact that he could not see any suitable rival who could be sent up against him. He knew now the limit of their search for a man. The best they could find was Rouse, a fellow whom he had thrashed in his study. A scornful smile was playing about his lips. He began to speak.
“Look here,” he said, “I wanted to keep out of this.”
That was how one might have expected Coles to begin. They listened to him listlessly. For a while he seemed to be idly chattering, as if seeking to make clear his own great modesty, but at last he came to the point. He was suggesting a fight. They listened now with pricked ears. A look of surprised delight had flashed into Toby’s eyes. Rouse was peering at Coles incredulously. But it was true. He was claiming the rights of an old colour.
“Before a man who has never shown any interest in boxing treads on all precedent and makes himself a dummy captain,” Coles had said, “other fellows ought to be given a chance to see what he can do. Let Rouse come into the ring. If he can beat me I shall be delighted to vote for him myself.”
He was rambling on pleadingly in this strain when it was suddenly noticed that Rouse too was upon his feet.
“I’m perfectly ready to fight you,” said he, “to-day.”
To the Grey Man Toby explained it in another light.
“It was what I had hoped might happen,” he said. “Because if we left it to an election they would elect Rouse, and that would leave Coles with a virtual grievance. But as it is, he himself has chosen this means of ballot, and if he is beaten now he can have no cause for complaint at all, and Harley will be the healthier for seeing a fellow whom they have at last summed up thoroughly well outed.”
The school gymnasium was packed from end to end. Wherever one looked boys of all shapes and sizes seemed to be piled one on top of the other to the level of the roof. Whoever had not properly understood the truth about Coles knew it now. The position was very clear indeed. All that had been whispered about him in the last days of the Christmas term had been true. The fellows in Seymour’s had admitted it. Coles had turned spy. He had palled up to the school’s worst enemy. He had bullied his fag. He had got whisky into the house and through him Roe had been expelled. He had done no single thing for which the school did not, now that they understood, condemn him with unutterable disgust. And Rouse was standing up to him now to fight him and, if he could, to give him the licking he so richly deserved, as a present from the school. Coles’ day of reckoning had come. Only one thing troubled them. No one could say how Rouse could be expected to win. It was true that they had such astounding confidence in his ability to do the seemingly impossible that this did not worry them very much. After all, he had won the Rainhurst match when it had seemed to be lost.