A big cheer greeted Pontifex, the captain of the school, as he strolled on to the dais, and took the chair of state.
The new boys eyed him curiously. He was a burly, good-humoured, easy-going fellow, with an “anything for a quiet life” look about him, as he stretched himself comfortably in his seat, and looked placidly round the hall. The cheering had very little effect on his composure. Indeed, he may not have taken in that it was intended for him at all; for he took no notice of it, and appeared to be quite as much amused at the noise as any one else.
A great contrast to Pontifex was Mansfield, the vice-captain, who, with quick eye, and cool, determined mouth, sat next, and eyed the scene like a general who parades his forces and waits to give them the word of command. Like Pontifex, he seemed but little concerned, either with the cheers of his friends or the few howls of his mutinous juniors. He was used to noises, and they made very little difference to him one way or another. Cresswell, on the contrary, seemed decidedly pleased, when cheers and cries of “Well run!” greeted his appearance; and most of the other monitors—Cartwright, the quick-tempered, warm-hearted Templeton football captain; Freckleton, the studious “dark man;” Bull, the “knowing one,” with his horse-shoe pin; Pledge, the smirking “spider;” of the Sixth, and others—seemed to set no little store by the reception the school was pleased to accord them.
At last all were in their places, the door was shut—a traditional precaution against magisterial invasion—and Pontifex lounged to his feet.
“Well, you fellows,” said he, with a pleasant smile and in a pleasant voice, “here we are again at another Election. We’re always glad to see one another after the holidays—at least I am (cheers)—and I hope we’ve got a good year coming on. They tell me I’m captain of Templeton this year. (Laughter and cheers.) I can tell you I’m proud of it, and only wish I wasn’t going to Oxford in the autumn. (Cheers and cries of ‘Don’t go.’) The comfort is, you’ll have a rattling good captain in Mansfield when I’m gone. (Cheers and a few howls.) I don’t wonder some of the young ’uns howl, for he’ll make some of you sit up, which I could never do. (Great laughter among the Seniors, and signs of dissension in the Den.) But I’ve not got to make a speech. There’s a lot of business. The first thing is the cricket captain. There’s only one man fit for that, and I won’t go through the farce of proposing him. Those who say Mansfield’s the right man for cricket captain, hold up your hands.”
A forest of hands went up, for even the malcontents who didn’t approve of Mansfield as a monitor had nothing to say against his cricket, which was about as perfect as any that had been seen in the Templeton fields for a dozen years.
With similar unanimity Cresswell was re-elected Whipper-in of the Harriers, and no one held up his hand more enthusiastically for him than did Dick, who shuddered to think how he could ever have imagined himself on such a lofty pedestal.
Then followed in quick succession elections to the other high offices of state in Templeton—Cartwright to the football captaincy, Bull to the keepership of the fives and tennis, Freckleton to be warden of the port—a sinecure office, supposed to imply some duties connected with the “Tub,” but really only the relic of some ancient office handed down from bygone generations, and piously retained by a conservative posterity.
All these were re-elections and passed off without opposition, and as a matter of course.
When, however, Pontifex announced that the office of Usher of the Chapel was vacant, the duties of which were to mark the attendance of all boys and present weekly reports of their punctuality, and proceeded to nominate Pledge for the post, the first symptoms of opposition showed themselves, much to the delight of the Den.