The occasion had been chosen by the Grandcourt Naturalists’ Field Club for their yearly picnic. This club was a very select, and, by repute, dry institution, consisting partly of scientific boys and partly of masters. Its supposed object was to explore the surrounding country for geological, botanical, and historical specimens, which were, when found, deposited in a museum which nobody in the school on any pretext ever visited.
Every member had the privilege of introducing a friend, but no one took advantage of the invitation, except once a year, on the occasion of the annual picnic, when there was always a great rush, and a severe competition to be numbered among the happy participants of the club’s hospitality.
It was long since Arthur had given up all idea of joining these happy parties. Great therefore was his astonishment and delight when on the evening before the term holiday Railsford put his head into the study and said—
“Arthur, would you like to come to-morrow to the Field Club picnic at Wellham Abbey?”
“Rather,” said Arthur.
“Very well; be ready at ten. I’ve ordered a tandem tricycle.”
Arthur was in ecstasy. If there was one kind of spree he liked it was a picnic at an abbey; and if there was one sort of conveyance he doated on it was a tricycle. He wiped off every score on his mental slate against Marky, and voted him the greatest brick going, and worthy to be backed up to the very end—especially if they had oysters at the picnic!
“Wish you could come, old man,” said he to Dig, who was groaning over his 100 lines of Livy.
“I wouldn’t go with him if he asked me, the cad!” growled Dig.
“No, he’s not a cad. If it hadn’t been for him you wouldn’t have seen one of your stamps back; and you might have been expelled straight away into the bargain. Tell you what, Dig, you’ve been scouting for Stafford all the last week; he ought to do something for you. Why don’t you ask him to take you? He’ll do it, like a shot. He’s always civil to us.”