“Lucky Freckleton said so,” remarked the scrutineer, “or I should have told you that his name is at the top of the poll by a very long start.” (Tremendous cheers.) “But, as I’m not to let out figures, all I can say is, he’s in. And so are Crossfield, Cartwright, Swinstead, Frith, and Mansfield for the Sixth-Form.”
It was curious to notice the effect of this announcement on the meeting generally and on the boys specially concerned. As name followed name without that of the Captain, fellows looked round at one another in something like consternation. After all, the Captain of Templeton was the Captain of Templeton, and those who had not voted for him had made sure other fellows would. But when five names were read out, and it was found that even Swinstead and Frith were elected, a sudden tide of repentance set in, which found vent in an unexpected cheer as the Captain’s name followed. Templeton felt it had had a narrow escape of making itself foolish, and the cheer was quite as much one of relief as of congratulation.
Mansfield may have understood it. He had kept his eyes steadily on the reader, with a slight flush on his quiet face, and fellows who watched him could not tell whether the peculiar gleam which passed his eyes as his name was read was one of triumph or vexation. Whatever it was, every one knew the Captain would be altered neither in purpose nor motive by the incident. Jupiter would be Jupiter still, whether in Olympus or out of it; and Templeton, on the whole, felt that, had the vote gone otherwise, it would have had quite as much blushing to do as the defeated hero.
The scrutineer continued his list in order of forms. Of our particular acquaintance, Birket, Hooker, Duffield, Braider, and Aspinall all got safely “landed,” while Bull, Wrangham, and Spokes were passed over.
Templeton, in fact, was a very good judge of honour when it was put to the choice, and even the enemies of the new Club could not help admitting that the best men, on the whole, were the elected ones.
A grim silence fell on the Hall as the scrutineer said—
“Now, Gentlemen, the Upper Third. The following are elected:—
“Richardson.”
Dick caught his breath and felt he dared not move a muscle. Pledge was looking that way, and, as the boy’s eyes and his enemy’s met, the cheers of the Den sounded feeble, and the shouts of the Firm were spiritless.
“Pauncefote.”