Ashby, whose uncle was an M.P., had had some little experience in general elections, but he never remembered canvassing of this kind before. However, D’Arcy had an authoritative air about him, and as the School was evidently in peril, and there was no suspicion of practical joking in the present case, he marched off sturdily to the Modern minors’ class-room, and sheltering himself conveniently behind the door, waited the turn of events.
He had not to wait long. He could hear the master announcing the lesson for preparation, and the general shuffle which precedes the dismissal of a class. Then his heart beat a little faster as he distinguished footsteps and heard the unsuspecting enemy approaching his way.
Now Ashby, although a new boy, was man enough to calculate one or two things. One was that his best chance was either to attack the head or the tail of the procession; and secondly, that as the head boys in a form are usually those nearest the front, and conversely, the lowest are usually nearest to the door, the smallest boys would probably be the first to come out. For all of which reasons he decided to make his swoop at once, and if possible abscond with his booty before the main body arrived on the scene.
The event justified his shrewdness. The moment the door opened, two small Moderns scampered out clean into the arms of the expectant kidnapper, who before they had time so much as to inquire who he was or what he wanted, had a grip on the coat-collar of each, and was racing them as hard as their short legs could carry them across the grass.
“Let go, you cad!” squeaked one, presently. “What we you doing!”
“It’s only fun,” said Ashby, encouragingly; “come along.”
The other prisoner was more practical. He tried to bite his captor’s hand, and when he failed in that, he tried to kick. But though he succeeded better in this, the pace was kept up and the grip on his collar, if anything, tightened. Whereupon he attempted to sit down. But that, though it retarded the progress, was still insufficient to arrest it. The pace dropped to a quick walk, and in due time, greatly to Ashby’s relief, the portal of Wakefield’s was reached.
Here, of course, all was safe. If any of the few boys hanging about had been inclined to concern themselves in the affair, the colour of the ribbon on the victims’ hats was quite sufficient reason for allowing the law to take its course; and Ashby, who began to grow very tired of his burden (which insisted on sitting down on either side all the way upstairs), arrived at length at Messrs D’Arcy and Wally’s door without challenge.
He had no need to knock, or say “Balbus,” as the room was empty. The other canvassers had evidently not yet returned.
With a sigh of relief he deposited his loads on the carpet and locked the door.