“My dear old fellow,” said Railsford kindly, “you are talking like a little donkey. If you want to help me, you’ll just determine to work all the harder now.”
“I say,” said Dig, shirking the question, “have you got into a row, Mr Railsford? Is it anything about—you know what?”
“You really mustn’t ask me, boys; it’s sufficient that I have to go, and I don’t think you two will believe it is because I have done anything wrong.”
“Rather not,” said Arthur warmly. “But, I say, Marky, just tell us this—it wasn’t us got you into the row, was it? It was awfully low of me to let it out to Felgate; but we bowled him out in time, just when he was going to send those things to Bickers. Did you see the nice trick we played him? He won’t be able to do it again, for we burned the things. Such a flare-up! It isn’t our fault you’re going, is it?”
“No, not a bit,” said Railsford. “Now you had better go.”
They went and proclaimed their master’s wrongs through the length and breadth of the house. The Shell took up the matter specially, and convened an informal meeting to consult as to what was to be done.
“Let’s send him a round robin, and ask him not to go,” suggested Maple.
“Let’s get our governors to write to the doctor,” said another.
“Let’s all leave if he does; that’s bound to make him stay,” said a third.
Arthur, however, had a more practical proposal.