For a while Toby spoke no word. Only the smoke curled quietly upwards from his pipe.
Eventually he answered:
“Yes, of course. I don’t see how you can do anything else. There isn’t much doubt that by a step like this the Head has put himself outside the pale. The only thing is what line you ought to take.”
“Why, a rebellion,” said Terence again.
“If by a rebellion you mean making a cock-shy of the school, old son, I’m not sure that we shan’t be doing ourselves more harm than good. It doesn’t take much imagination to see what that will lead to. Sport—work—reputation—everything busted—and over the chaos of it all the villain sitting with a cheerful smile, whilst you take note what you’ve done for yourselves. We want to keep our dignity. We want to carry on so that any outsider who hears of this and can weigh both sides will have no doubt who was in the right. And, particularly, we want to fight as the Grey Man would have us fight.”
The changed expression on Terence’s face showed that he considered himself rebuked by one of the few men from whom he could take a rebuke in kindly spirit.
“What do you think we ought to do about it, then?”
“Listen,” said Toby, “and if an Old Boy may be allowed his say I will tell you.”
It was two minutes later when Rouse looked up with a start. Whilst he had been listening to that philosophical counsel Toby had shrewdly been guiding his footsteps towards the school. They had turned a corner, and now all three stopped short. They were on top of a vast, impatient throng.