But if the principals in the quarrel were inactive, their adherents on either side took care to keep up the feud.
The Modern juniors especially, who felt very sore at the indignity put upon their house, took up the cudgels very fiercely. Secretly they admitted that Dangle had cut rather a poor figure, and that they could have made a much better job over the impounded football than he had by his interference. But that had nothing to do with the conduct of the enemy, whom they took every opportunity of defying and deriding.
“There go the sneaks,” shouted Lickford, as the four Classic juniors paraded arm in arm across the Green. “Who got licked by our chap and had to squeal for a prefect to come and help them? Oh my—waterspouts!”
“Ya—how now—oh no, not me!” Percy shouted for the special benefit of Fisher minor.
“Look at them! They daren’t come our side. Cowards!—daren’t come on to our side of the path,” chimed in Cash.
“Look at their short legs,” called Ramshaw; “only useful for cutting away when they see a Modern.”
“Who got licked on the hands for cheating at Elections, and blubbed like anything!” put in Cottle.
The four heroes walked on, hearing every word and trying to appear as if they did not. They spoke to one another with forced voices and mechanical smiles, and did their best not to be self-conscious in the matter of their legs.
But as the defiance grew bolder in proportion as they walked further, Wally said—
“I say, this is a drop too much. We can’t stand this, eh?”