Clapperton rose to second the motion. He had lost a great deal of his “side” during the last few days, and though he looked in better tiff than he had done lately, the present occasion was evidently an effort. He said: “Yorke has made a generous speech. He avoided ancient history, and therefore did not go into the reason why the clubs were dissolved and the School sports came to smash. I could tell you—but what’s the use? You all know. Yorke said to me before the meeting, ‘Let bygones be bygones, old man—we were all to blame—bury the hatchet—let’s get right for the future.’ Gentlemen, there was one fellow who was not to blame. His name was not Clapperton. It was Yorke.” (Loud cheers.) “But I say with him, if you let me, ‘Bury the hatchet.’” (Cheers.) “And to prove it, I beg to hand in my name to the committee for election. I answer for myself that I am willing to play; and if the captain decides that I can play,” (laughter), “why, I will play.” (Loud applause.)
Fullerton and Corder both sprang up to support the motion. The former made way for Corder, who merely wished to say how delighted he was. He also voted for the burying of the hatchet. He had minded being stopped football more than anything else. He gave in his name. He would play, and he might tell them that the captain had already told him he could play. (Laughter, and cries of “Blow your own trumpet.”) All right—it was the only thing he had to be cocky about; and he meant to be cocky. He supported the motion. (Cheers.)
Fullerton handed in his name, and was very glad to think that he and his old friend Clapperton would have a chance of running up the field again together. (“If you’re elected!” from the end of the room, and laughter.) Oh, of course, if he was elected. He hoped when the gentleman down there was captain, fifty years hence, he would deal as liberally with candidates as he was sure Yorke would deal now. (Laughter, at Wally’s expense.)
The other prefects followed suit, and gave in their allegiance to the new clubs. Curiosity was alive to see what attitude Brinkman and Dangle would adopt. For a while it seemed as if they would take no part; but at length, when Yorke was about to put the motion, Brinkman rose and said, “I made up my mind when I came here I’d have no more to do with the clubs. But Yorke’s ‘Bury the hatchet’ gives a fellow a chance. If you mean that,” (Yes, yes), “if this is a fresh start, here’s my name!” (Loud cheers.) “You needn’t cheer. I didn’t mean to give it—but now I have, I—I—won’t shirk it,” and he sat down hurriedly.
Then Dangle rose, with a sneer on his face.
“This sort of thing is infectious. I can’t feel quite so sure as some of you about burying the hatchet; but, not to be peculiar, you may put me down—”
“And I can tell you at once, and before all these fellows,” said Yorke, rising hotly, and interrupting, “that we won’t have you! And that brings me to the other business—and that’s about Rollitt. We can’t bury the hatchet so easily, as far as he is concerned. For he is still absent, and no one knows what has become of him. I’m not going to say a word to make little of Fisher’s major’s mistake. It was bad enough, in all conscience, for Rollitt. But it was only a mistake. But what do you fellows say of the cad who deliberately gets up a story about him; and, even when he finds out there is not a shadow of truth in it, repeats it in a worse form than before? There are some here who believed the first report and joined in the suspicions. That was hardly to be wondered at. But every one of them had the decency, as soon as the money was found, to admit that they had been wrong, and to regret their unfair suspicion of a Fellsgarth fellow. All but one—this cad here! Only last night, you fellows, he wrote the letter I hold in my hand. I mean to read it to you, and I hope you won’t forget it in a hurry.”
“You shan’t read it; it wasn’t to you!” said Dangle, making a rush at the paper; “give it back!”
“You shall have it back,” said Yorke in a warmer temper than any one had seen him in before, “when I’ve read it. Stop, and listen to it. It’ll do you good.”
“Read away!” sneered Dangle, giving up the contest. “It’s the truth.”