The dinner-bell rang. They all went in; and no one ate a worse dinner in consequence of the perturbed state of their minds. They still, however, continued, in low voices, talking the matter over; and the masters and Mrs Pike saw that something was evidently wrong. The weather, however, summarily settled the matter for them. The sky had been for some time clouding over, and before they had left the dinner-table, the rain began to descend in torrents, so that it was impossible for any one of them to make any complaint of not being allowed to go out on that day. Harder and harder came down the rain, till it was evident that it was going to be a settled pouring afternoon. Although, in one respect, this was an advantage, as it enabled the better disposed to calm their spirits, and to think quietly over what they had proposed to do, yet it, at the same time, allowed the rest to brood over their fancied wrongs, and to concoct a variety of schemes of vengeance.
Julian Langley was one of the most indignant, and most ready to join any of the plans of the extreme party. He had come to a school where he understood there was plenty of liberty and gentlemanly treatment, and he found, he said, neither one nor the other. He had read of some fellows at a large school getting up a grand rebellion, barring out the masters, and standing a siege of several days, till their terms were complied with. The idea was caught up by others. It was grand in the extreme, if not novel. Scarborough and some of the bigger fellows were delighted with it. Julian undertook to win over Heathcote and his set.
“They must not be left out, certainly,” observed Scarborough. “They are plucky fellows, and would be powerful allies; but I suspect that you will have some difficulty in managing them.”
“Let me alone for that,” answered Julian, with a self-satisfied tone. “I know how to touch up my old friend, Digby Heathcote, in the right place. He is well primed already, and only wants the spark to set him off.”
There was certainly far less noise and disturbance that Saturday afternoon than there had been for a long time. On the Sunday, also, and the following days, the masters observed that the boys behaved even better than usual. An event which proved to be of considerable importance occurred on Monday. Bouverie, who had been counselling patience and submission, was suddenly summoned home to attend the sick bed of his father: he had time only to pack up and be off. He sent, however, for Farnham, and urged him not to do anything rashly, though he could not enlighten him as to the reason of the prohibition so much complained of. Strange to say, Digby was more pleased with Julian for two or three days than he had been since he came to the school—he was constantly with him, submitting to his opinion, and speaking so very sensibly on many matters.
“I’ll tell you what it is, Digby,” said Julian at last, “if all the fellows will sink their quarrels and disputes and unite heart and hand, we shall carry the day and gain our rights. For my own part, I do not care much about the matter; I am not going to be here long, so I argue for the sake of others more than for myself. Just, therefore, come and hear what Knowles and that clever fellow, Blake, has got to say. Depend on it they will show you that they are in the right.”
In a fatal moment Digby consented to join a conference of those who called themselves the leaders of the school, to decide what should be done in case they were still denied the liberty they demanded.