Dig thought it over.
“If he says Yes, will you help me polish off my lines?”
“All right. I say, go soon, or somebody else may have asked him.”
Dig went, and to his satisfaction was informed that Stafford would take him, if he promised to be steady. Which of course he did promise. So between them the two chums polished off the Livy—never was the great historian made such mincemeat of before or after—and then gave themselves over to delightful anticipations of the Field Club picnic.
One misgiving disturbed Arthur’s peace of mind. Railsford might make a base use of his opportunity as partner on the tricycle to corner him about his misdeeds and generally to “jaw” him. Besides, as Dig was going too, it would be ever so much jollier if Dig and he could go to Wellham together and let the masters go by themselves.
“We must work it somehow, Dig,” said Arthur. “If we go we must have a high old time—and not be let in for a lot of rot about old bones and fossils and that sort of thing.”
“Rather not,” said Dig, “though I wouldn’t mind if we could get hold of a skull. It would look prime on the mantelpiece.”
“Gammer, who went last year, says it was an awful go-to-meeting turn-out. Top-hats, and service at the abbey, and scarcely a bit of grub; but I hear the spread’s to be rather good this year, down by the river’s edge.”
“Hooroo!” said Dig, “I guess you and I will be about when they call over for that part of the spree.”
The morning was dull and cloudy, and Dig and Arthur as they stood on the hall steps and looked up at the sky, debated with themselves whether the day would hold up long enough to allow of the picnic at the water’s edge. To their relief, the other excursionists who gradually assembled took a hopeful view of the weather and predicted that it would be a fine afternoon, whatever the morning might be.