“Suppose,” once more began Pembury, amid dead silence—“suppose, instead of Greenfield senior being a thief and liar, I and all of you have been fools and worse for the last six months? Wouldn’t that be funny, you fellows?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” demanded Tom Senior.
“Why, you don’t suppose I mean anything, do you?” retorted the cross-grained Tony. “What’s the use of saying what you mean—”
“But do you really—” began Bullinger.
“I say, suppose I and you, Bullinger, and one or two others here who ought to have known better, have been making fools of ourselves, wouldn’t that be funny?”
There was a pause, till Simon, plucking up heart, replied, “Very funny!”
The gravity even of Pembury broke down at this, and the present conference of the Fifth ended without arriving at any nearer conclusion on the question which was perplexing it.
Meanwhile, Oliver and Wraysford were in their study, talking over the event of the day.
“I was certain how it would be, old boy,” said Wraysford, genuinely delighted. “I wonder what the Fifth will say now? Bah! it doesn’t become me to say too much, though, for I was as bad as any of them myself.”
“No, you weren’t, old boy; you never really believed it. But I say, Wray, I don’t intend to take this exhibition. You must have it.”