“Let’s give it him soon, to get him in a good-humour, next week,” suggested someone.
“No, we’d better do it just before the Easter holidays,” replied Arthur; “that’ll start him well for next term.”
That evening the differences between the two friends were patched up. Dig, under a pledge of secrecy, was initiated into the whole mystery of the sack, and the wedge of paper, and the wax vestas, promising on his part to respect his friend’s reputation in the matter of the “fifty-six billion Snowball.”
The baronet was fully impressed with the importance of his friend’s disclosures.
“It’s a regular case,” said he. “I never thought it of him. We must keep it dark and give him a leg out.”
“I fancy so,” said Arthur. “It’s a sort of family affair, you see. It’s half a pity he can’t know that we’ve bowled him out and are sticking to him. But I suppose it’s best not to let him suspect it.”
“No—better keep it all dark. He’ll know all about it some day.”
And the two confederates went to bed happy that night, in the consciousness that they were restored to one another’s confidence, and that they were standing between their miscreant “kinsman” and the punishment which properly belonged to his crime. On the following morning a notice appeared on the common room door, signed by Ainger, summoning the house to meet after tea on particular business. The important business had no connection with the affaire Bickers, but was the captain’s first move towards pulling up the house to the proud position he designed for it.
“Now, you fellows,” said he, in the course of a short spirited speech, “I needn’t tell you that our house is down on its luck this term. (Cheers.) We are in the black books of the doctor, as you know—and we can’t well help it. Somebody in the house thinks fit to tell a lie, and gets us all into trouble; but we aren’t going down on our knees to that person or any other sneak to help us when we mean to help ourselves. (Loud cheers.) Now this is one way I propose we help ourselves. We are, you all know, cut out of the sports, and school cricket, and all that sort of thing. (Shame!) Very well; but they can’t prevent our getting up house sports of our own, and a house eleven, and showing that we aren’t going to be put down. (Applause.) I mean to train hard myself, and run the mile if I can in quicker time than Smedley or anyone else in the School sports; and unless I’m mistaken Barnworth means to show that Railsford’s house can jump an inch higher than any other house at Grandcourt, even though we don’t get a prize for it (tremendous cheers); and I am not so sure if Wake doesn’t press their second man pretty close. (Bravo, Wake!) You youngsters will have to do your share. We want a Railsford’s fellow to lick the time of every event in the School sports. (Loud cheers.) We may not be able to do it in all; but we’ll know the reason why, if we don’t. (So we will!) You’ll have to sit up, some of you, if you’re going to do it. But of course you’ll do that. (Rather!) Railsford’s sports will be held this day three weeks—just a week after the School sports. So we shall know what we’ve got to beat. That’s one thing I’ve got to say. Every boy here should enter for some event or other, and see he wins it. (Applause.) The next thing is this. Cricket is coming on; it begins the Saturday after the sports. We aren’t going to be done out of our cricket to please anybody! (Tremendous enthusiasm and waving of caps.) We intend to turn out as stiff a house eleven as ever played in the fields, and some fine day you fellows will see Railsford’s play the School and win. (Applause.) Yes, and we’ll have a second eleven, too. (Rather! from the juniors.) Mr Railsford is going to back us up. (Cheers.) He played in his college eleven at Cambridge, and he’s promised to give up all his Saturdays to the end of the term to coach us. (Three cheers for Railsford.) Now the last thing—”
“Whatever else can there be?” said the baronet, in a perspiration of fervour.