“Tell the fellows,” said he, “that the signal to begin will be just when morning school is over. The Hen goes to get ready for dinner, and Shankley and Philpot are to follow and screw her up. The holes are already bored, so it won’t take long.”
“Suppose she yells,” suggested I.
“Not likely, but if she does—her room’s far enough away. Oh! by the way, I’ve screwed her window already. I thought we can one of us easily smash a pane for her if she wants more ventilation.”
“And how about Ladislaw and Hashford?”
“I’m going down, when the Henniker’s safe, to ask them both to step up into the parlour. They’ll probably think something’s wrong, and hurry up. (I’ve screwed that window, too, by the way.) Then you and Rathbone are to screw their door when they are safe in—I’ve put the key outside, too—and I’ve told the other fellows to be ready to bring a lot of desks and things out of the schoolroom and pile them up, in case they kick too hard.”
“Upon my word, Jack, you’re a regular general. But I say, we’ve forgotten the two servants.”
“No, we haven’t. I’ve told them what’s up, and they won’t interfere; but—shut up now.”
During the morning we continued to pass round word what the arrangements were, and waited feverishly for the close of morning school. As we sat in the class-room we had the satisfaction of seeing first the butcher’s pony and then the baker’s cart drive up the front garden and drive back again. We were all right for the “sinews of war” for a day or two, anyhow!
The Henniker kept it up till the last, and distributed her favours lavishly and impartially all round. But we heeded it not; we even enjoyed it, for were not we to have our innings next?
It seemed as if morning school would never end. At last a fluttering at our hearts, more convincing even than the clock, told us the hour was come. We rose from our seats. The rebellion at Stonebridge House had begun.