Similar scenes of reconciliation were taking place elsewhere. Cottle was asking Ashby his riddle; D’Arcy was laying down the law in the admiring hearing of Ramshaw and Lickford as to the cooking of sprats on the shovel; while Fisher minor was telling the sympathetic Mrs Stratton all about the people at home. Mr Stratton was wise enough not to disturb this state of affairs by talk of his own. When, however, the meal began to flag, and his guests one by one abandoned the attack, he proposed an adjournment to the drawing-room.
“I want the advice of you youngsters,” said he presently, “about something I dare say you all know something about. I mean the old School shop.”
The party looked guilty. Didn’t they know the tuck-shop?
“It seems to me,” said Mr Stratton, “it’s rather in a bad way just now; don’t you think so? Robert hasn’t time to look after it, and wants to give it up. He says it doesn’t pay; and really some of his things aren’t particularly nice. I went and had a jam tart there this morning. It was like shoe-leather; and the jam was almost invisible.”
Wally laughed. He knew those tarts well.
“I think it would be a pity if it was given up; don’t you? We all want a little grub now and then; besides, it’s an old School institution.”
“Robert charges three-halfpence a-piece for those tarts,” said D’Arcy.
“Yes—think of that. I’ve no doubt you could get them for half the price at Penchurch. What I was thinking was, why shouldn’t some of us carry on the shop ourselves?”
The boys opened their eyes. The idea of carrying on a tuck-shop on their own account opened a vista of such endless possibilities, that they were quite startled.
“It ought to be easy enough if we manage properly,” said Mr Stratton. “Suppose, now, we who are here were to form a committee and decide to run the shop, how should we begin?”