The “Firm” adopted the motion. The next day was a half-holiday; and a police court is always attractive to infant minds. And the presence of a real excuse for attending made the expedition an absolute necessity.
As soon as Saturday school was over, therefore, and at the very time when the Sixth were considering Pledge’s “resignation,” our three heroes, having taken a good lunch, and armed themselves each with a towel, in case there might be time for a “Tub” on the way back, sallied forth arm-in-arm to back up Tom White.
They found, rather to their disgust, on reaching the police court, that they were not the only Templetonians who had been attracted by the prospect of seeing the honest mariner at the bar. Raggles and Duffield were there before them, waiting for the public door to open, and greeted them hilariously.
“What cheer?” cried Raggles. “Here’s a go! Squash up, and we shall bag the front pew. Duff’s got five-penn’orth of chocolate creams, so we shall be awfully snug.”
This last announcement somewhat mollified the “Firm,” who made up affectionately to Duffield’s. “Old Tom will get six months,” said Duffield, as soon as his bag of creams had completed its first circuit. “Rough on him, ain’t it?”
“I don’t know. I say, it’ll be rather a game if it turns out he stole his own boat, won’t it? Case of picking your own pocket, eh?”
“I don’t know,” said Dick. “I don’t think he did steal it. But even if he did, you see it didn’t belong to him.”
“It’s a frightful jumble altogether,” said Georgie. “I think law’s a beastly thing. If the pawnbroker chooses to give money on the boat—”
“Oh, it’s not the pawnbroker—it’s the fellows the boat belonged to.”
“But, I tell you, Tom’s one of the fellows himself.”