He then whispered to me a plan he had thought of for signalising “the glorious Fifth,” in spite of Dr Hellyer, and in a manner which that worthy would never dream of. It was a scheme quite worthy of Tom’s fertile imagination.
“Oh, won’t it be a lark!” I cried, when he had finished; and we both then burst into an ecstasy of laughter at the very idea of the thing.
Chapter Six.
Our Plot and its Results.
“Now, mind,” said Tom, after a pause in our giggling, “we won’t tell any one else about it!”
“No,” I agreed; “it will be all the more fun to keep it to ourselves, and, besides, there will be less chance of our being found out.”
True to our compact, not a word of our conspiracy was breathed to a soul in the school; and the eventful day approached at last, if not “big with the fate of Caesar and of Rome,” pregnant with a plan for astonishing our master, and celebrating the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot in a manner never known before in the traditions of the establishment—although, perhaps, perfectly in keeping with the idea of the original iconoclast, whose memory we intended to do honour to in fitting manner.
When Dr Hellyer awoke to the knowledge of the fact that the Fifth of November fell this year on a Sunday, had he generously made allowance for the patriotic feelings of his pupils, and allowed them to have their usual annual firework demonstration on the Saturday prior, which happened to be a half-holiday, the matter might have been harmoniously arranged, and Tom and I been persuaded at the last moment to abandon our daring enterprise—possibly, that is, though I doubt it much.