The two days that followed were days of suspense to the Den.
“Is Dick going?” was the question every one asked.
“He doesn’t know,” was the invariable answer.
Under these circumstances, it will be understood, but little enthusiasm could be called up over the rival toilets of the fraternity. Culver’s dress-coat had been returned to its lawful owner long since, and for that reason, if for no other, he determined not to attend. Heathcote’s choker and white gloves were the worse for wear, so he was not anxious; and Coote, whose one strong point was a watered ribbon watch-chain, was rumoured to be weak in collars, and, on the whole, not a “hot man” at all, or likely to show up.
As to Dick, opinions were divided as to what he could do if he went. It was known his “dicky” had fallen off, but, on the other hand, he had brought back a pair of patent leather pumps, which might make him feel it his duty to attend.
“Look here, old man,” asked Heathcote, for about the hundredth time, the evening before the levée, “are you going, or are you not?”
“Don’t know,” replied Dick. “Are you?”
What a question for a leader to ask his lieutenant! Dick knew it was ridiculous, but he guessed shrewdly it might choke off further inquiry. And it did.
Heathcote, however, had other counsellors besides Dick, who were neither doubtful nor sparing in their advice on the great question. A hasty meeting of the “Select Sociables” was summoned, by means of Braider, that very evening, to take into consideration the action of the Club at the forthcoming levée, at which it was agreed unanimously that, after the Captain’s threat, no member of that honourable body should, on any account, show up.
Heathcote held up his hand for the resolution with the others, and felt sure, in his own mind, Dick would have done the same.