“But, surely,” said Pointon, “when the Head knows the truth he can’t refuse to believe it.... That’s all bosh.”
“What Toby says,” pointed out Terence, “is that what we’ve got up against us now isn’t a charge against Rouse that’s got to be disproved at all. It’s the Head’s own character. The Head is a man who’ll never admit himself in the wrong. Even if there’s nothing else behind it, that’s enough. He’s taken a definite line and now he won’t budge from it for fear of his reputation. He’s an idea we may try to make him alter his mind and he’s determined he won’t. Whatever evidence we could bring up now wouldn’t make any difference at all.”
Pointon grew annoyed. He was a studious boy with rather definite opinions of his own and a particularly strong sense of justice.
“That’s preposterous,” said he. “No man’s got a right to do a thing like that. He’s not a dictator. We’ve always elected our own captains at games.... This is all rot. Do you mean to say he’s going to make Rouse suffer like this and ruin the school’s footer season just because he hasn’t the decency to admit himself in the wrong?”
“That’s Toby’s idea,” said Terence, “and Toby isn’t often wrong over a thing like this. He’s done a lot of arguing with the Head too ... and none of us have really spoken to him at all in private. Toby’s probably right.”
“In that case,” said Pointon, “we shall require a deputation and we’d better decide now who it shall be.”
It was twenty-five minutes before Toby came back, and they saw at once that his countenance was grave.
“It’s no use at all,” said he. “The Head’s firm. He says that unless you have elected a new captain by six o’clock to-night, he will elect one for you, and it may not be one that you expect.”
“Did you ask him to receive a deputation, sir?” said Smythe.