“Well,” said Dig resignedly, “I don’t think I am, really; but if I am, I hope I get Roaring Tommy.”
Simson had not much difficulty in filling up his list. The specious pretext of the postage-stamps did not delude many, but Felgate’s name worked wonders. Felgate had had no intention of allowing his name to be used, and was indeed in blissful ignorance that his support was generally known. He had in a reckless way expressed his sympathy with what he chose to term a very innocent “round game,” and had given practical proof of his sympathy by buying a ticket. That was yesterday, and he had since forgotten the whole affair, and was quietly looking about him for some new way of wiping off the rapidly-accumulating score against Railsford and his lieutenant Ainger.
After his rebuff about the compulsory cricket—which, fortunately, no one but the captain (who was not the man to say much about it) had witnessed—Felgate had retired for a time into comparative seclusion. He believed in his lucky star, and hoped there was a good time coming. He still had his trump card in hand, but if he could win his trick without it he would be so much to the good.
Arthur, when, on the day after Simson’s visit, he heard that the list was closed without him, kicked Simson, and felt on the whole rather glad. He had thought the matter over, and did not like breaking his promise to the people at home. Besides, he still felt sore at the loss of his former sixpence in a similar venture, and looked upon the whole business as more or less of a “plant.” Further than that, he now had a delightful opportunity of tormenting Sir Digby, who had weakly yielded to the tempter, albeit with a few qualms and prickings of conscience.
“Just like you!” bragged Arthur; “anybody can do you! A precious lot of your six stamps you’ll see back! I know Mills—a regular shark!—and if there’s a row, he’ll back out and leave you and the rest of them to catch it; then who’ll be Roaring Tommy, eh?”
Digby did not like this sort of talk; it offended him—besides, it frightened him.
“Stuff and nonsense!” said he. “Who’s to care about a few postage-stamps? I wouldn’t gamble with money, not if I was paid for it. Why, I should fancy if Felgate goes in for it it’s not much harm.”
“Felgate knows what he’s up to, and can look after himself,” said Arthur. “You can’t; you swallow everything any ass tells you!”
“I don’t swallow all you tell me, for one!” retorted Dig.
Arthur coloured; he did not like being pulled up short like that, especially when he was doing the high moral business.