“Great man, the Doctor!” remarked Kit, judiciously. “Now I guess we’ll let the Gumshoe whistle for his lines. What a relief it is occasionally to meet with broad-mindedness on the part of those who are charged with our education. Same with the Gumshoe’s gating,” he added, in illogical parenthesis.
The opportunity to test Mr. Roylston’s whistling powers came sooner than they expected. The day before the Boxford game, Jack Stenton called off the football practice, and had the school in to a mass-meeting in the Gymnasium. The boys sang the school songs with their traditional vigor, and listened with the utmost good nature and appreciation to speeches that in many cases had been delivered a dozen times before. The Doctor remarked that it was difficult to be original on such occasions, as though he was making the remark for the first time; but at the risk of repeating himself he did not mind saying that they had supreme confidence in the prowess of the team and that the school was confident of a victory on the morrow. Stenton gave, in his matter of fact way, impressing the boys deeply, a careful estimate of the abilities of the different players and what might be expected of them in the game, and offered a judicial estimate that the score would be two touch-downs to none in favor of Deal. Billy Wendell, the captain, stammered, in the traditional captain’s manner, that the team wanted the school behind them, and that—that was about all he had to say. Other members of the faculty made remarks, some of which were witty, some merely facetious, but all received with wild applause. Then they sang some more, cheered for the team, for the school, for Jack Stenton, for Billy Wendell, and the meeting was concluded by the Head declaring a half-holiday for the team, and removing Monday Port bounds for the afternoon in behalf of the two upper forms. Many of the boys had friends coming on the afternoon trains, and counted on this largess as a general permission to go in and meet them.
Kit’s mother was coming, with a couple of girls. Rooms for them had been taken at the Deal Inn on the Port Road near the school. Immediately after the mass-meeting Kit called to Tony, and asked him to go in with him to the depôt and meet the five o’clock train.
“Are we really going to break the Gumshoe’s gating?” asked Tony.
“We certainly are,” responded Kit cheerfully. “To heck with the Gumshoe; bounds are off for the afternoon anyway. It’ll be a good way to get the matter officially to the Head. By gum!” he exclaimed, glancing toward the Schoolhouse, “Gumshoe’s got call-over.”
Surely enough Mr. Roylston was standing on the Schoolhouse steps, with a long line of boys in single file beneath him, waiting to report.
“Shall we tell him?” asked Kit.
“Guess we’ll have to,” answered Tony. “Let’s butt in to the middle of the line for once, and get it over.” Ordinarily, it may be remarked, Fifth Formers did not report, unless they were going into Monday Port. They made for the line, and Kit grabbed a Third Form boy by the arm.
“Say, Bunting, do you mind letting us in here? We’re in a big hurry.”
The small boy flushed with pleasure at the request from such popular and distinguished persons as Wilson and Deering, and readily made way. Mr. Roylston, who seldom failed to see anything that was going on around him, stopped for a moment and looked at them with an expression of stern disapproval. The boys thought that he was about to order them to the end of the line, but for once he disappointed them, and after a significant compression of his lips, went on with the call-over. There was a general titter along the line.