"A rival paper," answered Roger, dramatically. "Nay, but me no buts. A rival magazine, sir, edited by Richard Forge, and to bear the name of Rooke's Home Rag. All in favour, hands up. Carried unanimously!"
"Nonsense, Roger, thumbs down! Your project is crazy; we could never run to it!"
"What!" thundered Roger. "Shall it be said that Dick Forge, Captain of Foxenby, fears to tread where Luke Harwood has so long stalked alone? You can do it, old man, and you shall. You owe it to yourself, and to Rooke's House. Mr. Editor, I salute you. May I have the honour of contributing something to the first number of Rooke's House Rag?"
Dick thrilled with delight. His chum's spontaneous enthusiasm carried him along like a cork on the tide. Always he had cherished in secret the hope of rivalling the literary reputation which the school magazine had won for Harwood; now, at last, his dream was to come true. Jottings from his pen, unsigned, but obviously his, were to be printed, circulated throughout Foxenby, discussed indoors and out, compared with Harwood's work, and not necessarily to the captain's disadvantage.
His cheeks burned feverishly with the joyous excitement of it all. Football had small space in his thoughts now; anybody could kick a ball about—that was brawn, but writing was brain! Enraptured by this new bond of friendship, the pair discussed matters in every detail, and before bedtime their plans were cut and dried.
It was to be a fortnightly magazine, for which Dick, whose aunt kept him well supplied with pocket-money, was to be financially responsible; the subscription was to be at the same rate as that fixed for The Foxonian, and the number of pages were, in the aggregate, to be the same also; but there all resemblance between the two papers was to end. Originality of method was to be a strong point, imagination was to have full rein, and the fortnightly publication would give sufficient time for repartee if the honour of Rooke's House were in any way assailed.
"I shan't sleep to-night, I know," said Dick, at the end of their confab. "Not even yet can I wholly credit the thing. Tell me, honestly, Roger—have you the faintest doubt of its success?"
Roger slapped the captain's broad shoulders with unusual zest and strength.
"No possible doubt whatever," he avowed. "We're heart and soul together in this venture, old boy, and success is a certainty!"