By the side of the shed where Harry was standing there was a window, thick with dust. Harry tried to look through the window, but, failing in this, his forefinger went idly to work on the dust. Bit by bit he traced out a face and head, almost without knowing it, for he had been thinking of the meeting that was to take place in the shed rather than of his sketch.
"My, it isn't at all bad!" he cried, standing back a pace and admiring his handiwork when he had finished it. "If I'd really tried, I couldn't have done it so well. Perhaps the nose doesn't stick up enough, but it's got the right cut about it."
Harry was about to rub out the sketch, when he paused, as though reluctant to rub out such a masterpiece.
"'Pon my word, it's rather good! I wonder if anybody would know who it's meant for? I don't suppose anybody will. I've a jolly good mind to leave it!"
He pronounced the last words with emphasis, turned on his heels, and walked away.
Now it so happened that after Plunger and his companions had enjoyed their laugh at the expense of Harry, their attention went back again to the one absorbing topic of conversation—the meeting of the Fifth.
"Shouldn't I like to be there!" said Plunger, his curiosity growing as the time for the meeting advanced. "I would like to know what's in the wind! Is it about the Black Book, I wonder?"
"What's that to do with the Fifth any more than the rest of us?" remarked Sedgeley.
"Oh, the Fifth always put a lot of side on, and like to cock it over us!" retorted Plunger.
"You'll be just the same, Freddy, when you're sent up—if ever you are sent up," remarked Baldry. "Sour grapes!"