“Dangle’s a good quarter-mile man, and a good long-stop. If your kicking him prevents his playing for the School, you’ll have to mind your eye, my boy. That’s what he means.”
“Oh!” grunted Fisher major, “I suppose the rows will begin to-morrow, when we elect the officers for the School clubs. Those fellows are sure to want to stick their own men in.”
“At any rate you’re safe enough for treasurer, old man. But come, I’m dead sleepy to-night. Time enough for rows to-morrow and the next day.”
Chapter Three.
Canvassing.
When Fisher major woke early next morning he had the curious sensation of something on his mind without knowing what it was.
He was not out of sorts. The private supper of which he and Denton and Ridgway had partaken last night in Ranger’s study had been wholesome, if miscellaneous. Ranger’s people had given him a hamper to bring back, containing a good many good things—cake, biscuits, potted meats, jam, Worcester sauce, pickles, coffee, and other groceries intended to diversify the breakfasts of the half. By some error of judgment this valuable article of luggage had come from town in the van, where it had apparently been placed at the very bottom of the baggage. The consequence was, that when it came to be opened, its several ingredients were found to have got loose, and fused together in a most hopeless way. Jam, and pickles, and Liebig’s extract, and moist sugar were indistinguishable. The only thing seemed to be to attack the concoction en masse, without needless delay, and to that end Ranger had summoned the assistance of his friends and neighbours. Fisher major was unable to attribute any part of the weight on his mind to this perfectly wholesome and homely refreshment.
What was it? It was not Denton. He had come back as loyal and festive as ever, threatening to work hard this half, and determined to have Fisher major as his guest at the rectory on the lake for the Christmas vac.