“Up?” said Wally in tones of injured innocence; “one would think you didn’t know it was School club elections on in an hour, and all the chaps to whip up! If the Moderns turn up in force, it’ll be touch-and-go if they don’t carry every man. I can’t stop now—mind you bring those kids.”
And off he went with all the importance of captain’s fag on his electioneering tour.
“Wally’s right,” said D’Arcy. “It’ll be a close shave to carry our men. You see, kids,” added he condescendingly, “it’s just this way. The Moderns are going to try to carry the clubs to-day, and if they do, the whole of us aren’t going to stand it, and there’ll be such a jolly row in Fellsgarth as—well, wait till you see.”
This sounded very awful. Fisher minor would have liked to know what sort of clubs were to be carried, but did not like to ask. Ashby, however, more honest, demanded further particulars.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said he.
“Don’t suppose you do. Whose fault is that? All you’ve got to do is to yell for our side and vote for our men.”
That seemed simple enough, if D’Arcy would only vouchsafe to tell them when to begin.
“Come along,” said the latter. “We’ve half an hour yet to canvass. You know Wally’s and my study?”
“Yes.”
“All right; now you,” pointing to Ashby, “you hang outside that door. That’s the Modern minors’ class. Collar one of them as they come out, or two if you can; and fetch ’em up to my room. You,” pointing to Fisher minor, “go and prowl about the kids’ gymnasium and fetch any one with a blue ribbon on his hat, as many as you can bag. I’m going to see if I can find some of ’em near the tuck-shop. Kick twice on my door and say ‘Balbus,’ so that I shall know it’s you. Go on; off you go. Don’t muff it, whatever you do, or it’ll be your fault if Fellsgarth goes to pot.”