“Look here, Fullerton,” said Clapperton, who was sensitive enough to feel the sting of all this, “you don’t suppose we’re doing this for fun, do you? Will you promise not to play on Saturday, even if you are asked?”
“What if I don’t?” said Fullerton.
“You won’t find it particularly comfortable on this side of the School, that’s all,” said Brinkman.
Fullerton meditated and turned the matter over.
“I think on the whole,” said he, mimicking Clapperton, “that as this is for the highest good of the School, and as everybody is to be all the better in the long run, and as we’re all going to be noble and sacrifice ourselves together, you may put me down as not playing on Saturday. Dulce et decorum est pro patriâ—I beg pardon, I’m not on the Classic side yet.”
The other players named on the list consented more or less reluctantly to follow the same example. After morning school, therefore, when the fellows looked at the notice board, they saw, to their bewilderment, the names of the four Modern fellows struck out and the following note appended to the captain’s list—
“Notice.
“The following players protest against the exclusion of two names from the above list, and decline to play on Saturday, viz., Brinkman, Fullerton, Ramshaw major, and Smith.”
Underneath this, a juvenile hand had carefully inscribed in bold characters—
“Jolly good riddance of bad rubbish.” Signed, “Wheatfield, W., D’Arcy, Ashby, Fisher minor.”