“All right; I’m on to try it,” said Heathcote, not feeling very sanguine.
“Right you are. Keep it quiet, I say, and come down to ‘Tub’ early to-morrow.”
Which being arranged, the two dissemblers went down and addressed a monster meeting of the Den, denouncing everybody and vowing vengeance on the oppressor.
At “Tub time” next morning, Dick met his friend with a radiant face.
“It’s all right,” said he; “I’ve been over to the Mews and had a look at the traps, and one of them’s got a bar underneath we can easily hang on to.”
“Rather a grind hanging on to a bar for two hours!” suggested Heathcote.
“Bless you! that won’t hurt. Besides, we might get a lift further on; in fact, one of the coachmen said for five bob he’d stow us away in the boot.”
“That would be less dusty,” said Heathcote; “but—”
“Look here,” said Dick eagerly, as he and his friend stood side by side on the spring-board ready for a plunge, “what howling asses we are! Of course all the fellows will go on the top of the omnibuses, so if we cut round to the stables directly after breakfast, we can stow ourselves away inside one, under the seat, and then we shall have it all to ourselves.”
“All right,” said Heathcote, looking at last as if he saw his way to the venture.