“You young pig; that’s all you think about. You’ll have to go on jolly short rations, I can promise you. Do you know what we’re going to do?”
No one had an idea what they were going to do.
“Do you know those four Classic kids,” said Percy, “my younger brother and his lot? They’ve not been quite such cads lately as they used to be, have they?”
“They’ve been a bit more civil,” said Cottle. “I suppose that’s because of the shop.”
“What about them?” asked Ramshaw.
“Why, I fancy if we asked them, they might come over and back us up. Of course they’d have to bring their own grub; and we’d kick them out if they weren’t civil. What do you say?”
“Rather a lark,” said Lickford.
“All serene. I’ll go and see about it. Keep it dark, whatever you do, and mind you scrape up all the grub that’s owing us. There’s no time to lose, I say; Clapperton expects us in half an hour. Wire in!”
By the end of half an hour the larder had been fairly well replenished. Lickford and Cash had gone round on a general raid; recovering by force, where persuasion failed, their outstanding loans, and in other cases borrowing additional supplies in the same genial manner. Among other booty, they secured a tin of pressed beef from Spanker, who had to be clouted on the head before he would “lend it,” and some sardines from another boy, who was thankful to find any one to take them off his hands at any price.
Cottle and Ramshaw, acting on sealed orders from their leader, had been round borrowing a screw-driver and screws, a few yards of rope, and other material of war, among which was a squirt belonging to Reynolds, who had been pleased to “swap” it for a couple of Greek stamps which Cottle had to dispose of.