“The right.” It would have taken up too much time to examine what “the right” was. Archer was always sure that “the right” was what his party chose to do; that is, what he chose to do himself; and such is the influence of numbers upon each other, in conquering the feelings of shame and in confusing the powers of reasoning, that in a few minutes “the right” was forgotten, and each said to himself, “To be sure, Archer is a very clever boy, and he can’t be mistaken”; or, “to be sure, Townsend thinks so, and he would not do anything to get us into a scrape”; or, “to be sure, everybody will agree to this but myself, and I can’t stand out alone, to be pointed at as a Greybeard and a slave. Everybody thinks it is right, and everybody can’t be wrong.”
By some of these arguments, which passed rapidly through the mind without his being conscious of them, each boy decided, and deceived himself—what none would have done alone, none scrupled to do as a party. It was determined, then, that there should be a Barring Out. The arrangement of the affair was left to their new manager, to whom they all pledged implicit obedience. Obedience, it seems, is necessary, even from rebels to their ringleaders; not reasonable, but implicit obedience.
Scarcely had the assembly adjourned to the Ball-alley, when Fisher, with an important length of face, came up to the manager, and desired to speak one word to him. “My advice to you, Archer, is, to do nothing in this till we have consulted, you know who, about whether it’s right or wrong.”
“‘You know who!’ Whom do you mean? Make haste, and don’t make so many faces, for I’m in a hurry. Who is ‘You know who?’”
“The old woman,” said Fisher, gravely; “the gipsy.”
“You may consult the old woman,” said Archer, bursting out a-laughing, “about what’s right and wrong, if you please; but no old woman shall decide for me.”
“No; but you don’t take me,” said Fisher; “you don’t take me. By right and wrong, I mean lucky and unlucky.”
“Whatever I do will be lucky,” replied Archer. “My gipsy told you that already.”
“I know, I know,” said Fisher, “and what she said about your friends being lucky—that went a great way with many,” added he, with a sagacious nod of his head; “I can tell you that—more than you think. Do you know,” said he, laying hold of Archer’s button, “I’m in the secret. There are nine of us have crooked our little fingers upon it, not to stir a step till we get her advice; and she has appointed me to meet her about particular business of my own at eight. So I’m to consult her and to bring her answer.”
Archer knew too well how to govern fools, to attempt to reason with them; and, instead of laughing any longer at Fisher’s ridiculous superstition, he was determined to take advantage of it. He affected to be persuaded of the wisdom of the measure; looked at his watch; urged him to be exact to a moment; conjured him to remember exactly the words of the oracle; and, above all things, to demand the lucky hour and minute when the Barring Out should begin. With these instructions Archer put his watch into the solemn dupe’s hand, and left him to count the seconds, till the moment of his appointment, whilst he ran off himself to prepare the oracle.