Yet another peril awaited them before they were safe in port. This time it was Mr Stratton on the stairs.
“Ah, here you are—all of you,” said he. “I came to look for you. I want to hear how the shop is doing.”
“Very well, thank you, sir. I say, Mr Stratton,” said Wally, with a presence of mind which moved the admiration of his friends, “would you mind coming to a committee meeting in my and my chaps’ room! We can show you the things we want ordered next week, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly; I’ll come. I’m delighted to find you’re sticking so well to the business.”
And so it happened that when at last Percy’s door succumbed, and the besiegers rushed in, vowing vengeance and slaughter, to find the room empty, the nine innocents were sitting prettily round the table in Wally’s room with Mr Stratton in the chair, deciding that until November was out it would be premature to order oranges for the Fellsgarth shop.
Chapter Seventeen.
Hawk’s Pike.
Victory has its drawbacks, like everything else. The brilliant retreat of the Modern juniors and their auxiliaries under the enemy’s fire was all very well as a strategic movement. But when it came to deciding what to do next, the difficulties of the situation became painfully apparent.