These preliminaries being complete, and Fisher minor having been perched on the table (which was on the bed), with his eye to the loophole, the company, to pass the time, resolved itself into a committee on the School shop, and waited anxiously for the attack.
Percy was specially anxious, for he had enlisted his four recruits on the distinct understanding there would be a row, and all the blame would fall on his head if by any ill-luck the evening passed off quietly.
Already the Classic juniors were beginning to get impatient, and hinting that they saw no fun in the proceeding so far, when Fisher minor scrambled down from his perch and cried:
“Sh!—here comes somebody.”
“About time,” said Wally, taking possession of the squirt.
As he spoke, the footsteps halted at the door, and the handle turned.
“Lie low, you chaps,” whispered Percy. “Don’t let them know you’re here to begin with. Hullo! who’s that?”
“Let me in!” cried Gamble, outside.
“Can’t; we’re busy,” replied Lickford.
“We’ve got a committee meeting, and you’d better cut,” cried Percy.