"No, no," Osbody said. "It's there for a purpose. Covering up saplings from the frost, perhaps."
"Covering up fiddlesticks!" scoffed Grain. "They've chucked it there to get rid of it. Christmas, won't it blaze! Who'll join me in fetching it?"
"It means a furious swishing for whoever does," was Osbody's warning.
"Pooh, 'Body, old man, you're afraid!" Grain jeered.
The taunt reddened Osbody's cheeks still more, but he had the courage to stick to his guns.
"Rotto!" he exclaimed. "I like a lark, but this is sheer fatheadedness. Don't we get hidings enough without seeking them?"
"Who'll get a hiding?" argued Grain. "Not us, if anybody. Every master and prefect in Foxenby knows who prowls round this shrubbery. Supposing the matting is missed, then who'll 'click' the blame for it?"
"Robin Hood and his Merry Men," said Niblo. "I see your drift, Grain."
"Come, Osbody, be a man," Grain urged. "You can see there's no risk. Robin's 'put it across you' more than once lately. What a fine chance of getting your own back!"
Osbody hesitated. His sporting instincts were not altogether dead. In better company he would have realized that Grain's proposal savoured of a dirty trick. But he lived always in hopes of "doing down" Robin Arkness, whose successful rivalry had lately thrown him very much in the shade. Temptation assailed him strongly: he wavered and fell!