Arthur whistled.
“He’s a prefect,” said he.
“Of course he is, and he doesn’t see any harm in it.”
“Who else?” asked Arthur.
“Rogers, and Munger, and Sherriff.”
“A first eleven chap,” ejaculated Dig.
“Lots of others. There’s twelve names already out of twenty-one. No! thirteen, counting Tilbury. It’ll be too late to do it to-morrow.”
Arthur looked at Dig and Dig looked at Arthur. Twenty-one sixpences were ten shillings and sixpence, and ten shillings and sixpence would buy a new bat,—at a cost of six stamps. His father had warned him against gambling with money, but had said nothing about postage-stamps. And the cautions Dig had received against all “evil ways” did not even specify gambling at all.
Simson took out his list and wrote Tilbury’s name, and then waited for Arthur’s decision.
“May as well,” said Dig.