CHAPTER XIII.
“NO, NO, IT IS NOT JUST.”
“I WONDER what sort of grand things he will do,” said Andrew with a sneer at Gaston, who, at the close of the banquet ran off to tell of his new honours to Ruth. “Not much fear of his carrying off the prize from any of us.”
“Not much,” laughed the schoolboys.
“It doesn’t seem to me,” remarked Phil after a pause, “that it’ll be an easy matter for any of us to get a chance of doing anything really swagger.”
“Just what I was thinking,” said Jack; “if only one had the chance of slashing off a few Turk’s heads it would be easy enough to get famous,” and as he lay on his back amongst the high grass, Jack made a ferocious onslaught with his stick at the tall blades waving above his head. “But you see where it is, however much those youngsters may break down the fences and rob the cherry orchards, we can’t go and slice off their heads.”
“I should think not, indeed,” cried Faith; “why you know that you must not even strike them.”
“We shall see about that,” said Jack, very ominously, “when the time for action comes; but depend upon it, my fellow knights,” he added, with a knowing wink at Phil, “it was not customary to hold councils of war in the presence of gentle ladies.”
“Of course not,” said Andrew; “knights brought their trophies to their fair ladies to win their praises, but they didn’t tell them beforehand how they were going to get them.”