Such was the state of school politics at Templeton, when Dick and Heathcote obeyed the summons to attend their first Elections, on the first Saturday of the new term.
They found the Great Hall crowded with benches, rather like chapel, with a raised dais at the upper end for the Sixth, a long table in front for the ‘reporters,’ and the rest of the space divided into clusters of seats, occupied by members of the various school organisations represented. Of these clusters, by far the largest was that devoted to the accommodation of the Den, towards which our heroes, actively piloted by Raggles and Gosse, and a few kindred spirits, were conducted in state, just as the proceedings were about to begin.
“Come and squash up in the corner,” said Raggles; “we’re well behind, and shan’t be seen if we want to shine.”
“Shine,” as our heroes discovered in due time, was a poetical way of expressing what in commonplace language would be called, “kicking up a shine.”
“Shall you cheer Ponty?” asked Gosse of his friend.
“Rather. He’s a muff. I shall howl at Mansfield, though, and Cresswell.”
“I shan’t howl at Cresswell,” said Dick boldly.
“Why not? He’s a beast. You’ll get kicked, if you don’t, I say.”
“I suppose they’ll make him Whipper-in again,” said another boy near them. Dick looked uncomfortable for a moment. But the indifferent looks on his neighbours’ faces convinced him the story had not yet reached the Den.
“Cazenove thinks he ought to get it,” said Gosse, amid a general laugh, for Cazenove was almost as round as he was high. “Shall I put you up, old man? Hullo, here they come! There’s Ponty. Clap up, you fellows.”