“Do you know who the fellows were?” asked Clapperton.
“I believe your fag was one of them.”
“Percy Wheatfield? Catch him being shut out of anything. But I’ll ask about it. Fancy poor Yorke’s feelings if we were to demand a new election!”
“I tell you what,” said Dangle, “I don’t altogether understand Yorke. He tries to pass off as fair, and just, and all that sort of thing; but one can’t be sure he’s not playing a game of his own.”
“We shall easily see that when it comes to choosing the football fifteen against Rendlesham. I mean to send him in a list of fellows on our side. It’s only fair we should have half of them our men.”
“Half fifteen is seven and a half,” said Fullerton, a melancholy senior who had not yet spoken; “how will you manage about that?”
“Shut up, you ass!”
“I only asked,” said Fullerton. “It doesn’t matter to me, I don’t mind going as the half man, if you like. If you send seven names you’ll be in a minority in the fifteen, and if you send eight you’ll be in a majority. It doesn’t matter to me a bit.”
“Just like Fullerton. Always asking riddles that haven’t got an answer,” said Dangle.
“I wonder how Fisher will manage the treasurership,” said Brinkman, who was evidently sore at his defeat. “I shouldn’t have thought accounts were much in his line.”