Toby looked at him fixedly.
“No. It was clear that if I did he would refuse. So I decided that if there were going to be a deputation at all it had better be an impromptu one. And I think I’ll leave that to you.”
Looking at him, they understood: Toby was a master.
CHAPTER VIII
THE THUMB-SCREW
Coles returned to his study in a very bad temper. There had been one precious minute during the meeting when he had found himself suddenly thinking:
“My word! Supposing they should elect me!”
Never before had he seriously considered himself captain of Rugby football; but now that he did so he found the sensation peculiarly delightful. In these fleeting moments he imagined himself the most important man in the school, a veritable maker of laws. He pictured the favours he would be able to win from other fellows by withholding or bestowing colours. He would be respected in the town. He would be able to get things on tick. He might even be awarded a money prize by his proud father.
All these possibilities had flashed before his mind’s eye whilst other names were being suggested. Then that well-meaning but misguided individual had risen really and truly to propose his own and the chance was altogether too much for him. He had jumped to his feet.... There remained now nothing but the memory of being called an ass.
After all, he was the best drop-kick in the school. He could not for the life of him see why it should be so very absurd to suppose him captain. It is, of course, at such times as this that the close observer may discern the subtle difference between one who is instinctively a gentleman and one who is not. Coles was not a young man of good taste and that’s all there is to it.
At all events he was very angry, and the first butt upon whom he could vent his feelings happened to be Bobbie Carr, who was waiting obediently outside his study. Coles pounced upon him eagerly. To Bobbie his nose looked longer than ever, and more beak-like; his prominent cheek-bones, too, were touched with the hectic flush of indignation.