“Ah—yes; we’ve still that bone to pick with them.”
As the Friday approached, signs of excitement in the coming conquest were plainly visible. By tacit agreement the return match between Percy’s adherents and Wally’s was postponed till after the election. Absentees at the last election were diligently looked up by their respective prefects, and ordered to be in attendance. Minute calculations were made by the knowing ones, which decided within one or two what Brinkman’s majority would be. Even in Wakefield’s it was admitted that the Classic chance was a slender one.
“I wish it was all over,” said Fisher major. “I’m getting sick of these precious accounts already, and shall be glad to hand them over.”
“You won’t lose them,” said Dalton, “if we can help. You may have to vote for yourself, though.”
“Catch me. I’ve come to the conclusion I wasn’t born a treasurer, and I couldn’t conscientiously vote for myself. I only wish I could back out.”
“You can’t do that now,” said his friend. “Bless you, we can keep the accounts for you. We couldn’t for Brinkman.”
When morning school was over on the Friday, there was a general stampede for the Hall, where boys crowded up for good seats a quarter of an hour before the time, and enlivened the interval with cheers and demonstrations for their favourite candidate. Wally and his friends were particularly active in their corner, and addressed the meeting generally in favour of Fisher major.
“Back up, you Classic kids!” shouted Wally, standing on his seat and apostrophising a group of the Sixth who were standing near. “Fisher’s your friend! Won the mile in 4-38; batting average 34.658742.3; bowling, 12 wickets an innings, and 3 runs an over. Never tells lies, or cheats. Always comes home sober and gives silver in the collection. He won’t waste your money or cook your accounts, like some chaps; and he’ll run the ball up the field, instead of sitting down in the middle of the scrummage like the Modern chaps to keep warm. Walk up! walk up! vote for Fisher and economy! Hooray for Fisher! Down with the swell mob!”
Amid such torrents of eloquence the cause of Fisher major was not likely to go by default.
Brinkman, too, was not without his champions, who, however, avoided set speeches and confined themselves to personalities and generalities, such as—