"What do you think of that?"
"Pretty warm!" said Dick, relieving the general embarrassment by
speaking first.
"Think he means it?" said one.
"Looks like it!" said Dick, gloomily.
There was a pause. The Den knew, somehow, it was no joke.
It was a case of life or death, war or peace, liberty or servitude, and
they hesitated on the brink.
"I don't mean to knuckle under to him!" said Heathcote, speaking with
the mantle of Pledge upon him. "It's all a dodge to curry favour with
Winter."
The Den was thankful for the suggestion, and revived wonderfully under
its influence.
"Catch me doing more for him than for old Ponty!" cried Gosse, who had
never done anything for Ponty.
The reference was a popular one, and the Den took it up also. It fell
to extolling Ponty to the very heavens, and abasing Mansfield to the
opposite extremity, while it held up its hands in horror at the man who
could seek to make the good order of Templeton the price of his favour
with the Head Master.
But, when the little outburst had subsided, the awkward question still
remained--What was to be done?
"Of course nobody will be cad enough to go to the levee after what he
said," said Heathcote, who, warmed by the admiring glances of Coote and
the success of his last observation, felt called upon to speak for the
assembly in general.
"Rather not! You won't go, will you, Dick?" said Pauncefote.
"Don't know," said that hero, shortly.
The Den was startled. What did Dick mean by "Don't know"? Was he going
to knuckle in after all and join the "saints?"
The uncertainty had a very depressing effect on Heathcote's enthusiasm,
which had calculated all along on the countenance of his leader. Coote,
too, cautiously separated himself from Gosse, who was shouting sedition
at the top of his voice, and drew off to more neutral territory. Smith
and Pauncefote kept up their cheers for Ponty, but gradually dropped the
groans for Mansfield, and altogether the howls of the Den toned down to
the roar of a sucking dove as it got whispered abroad that Dick
Richardson "didn't know."
The two days that followed were days of suspense to the Den.
"Is Dick going?" was the question every one asked.
"He doesn't know," was the invariable answer.
Under these circumstances, it will be understood, but little enthusiasm
could be called up over the rival toilets of the fraternity. Culver's
dress-coat had been returned to its lawful owner long since, and for
that reason, if for no other, he determined not to attend. Heathcote's
choker and white gloves were the worse for wear, so he was not anxious;
and Coote, whose one strong point was a watered ribbon watch-chain, was
rumoured to be weak in collars, and, on the whole, not a "hot man" at
all, or likely to show up.
As to Dick, opinions were divided as to what he could do if he went. It
was known his "dicky" had fallen off, but, on the other hand, he had
brought back a pair of patent leather pumps, which might make him feel
it his duty to attend.
"Look here, old man," asked Heathcote, for about the hundredth time, the
evening before the levee, "are you going, or are you not?"
"Don't know," replied Dick. "Are you?"
What a question for a leader to ask his lieutenant! Dick knew it was
ridiculous, but he guessed shrewdly it might choke off further inquiry.
And it did.
Heathcote, however, had other counsellors besides Dick, who were neither
doubtful nor sparing in their advice on the great question. A hasty
meeting of the "Select Sociables" was summoned, by means of Braider,
that very evening, to take into consideration the action of the Club at
the forthcoming levee, at which it was agreed unanimously that, after
the Captain's threat, no member of that honourable body should, on any
account, show up.
Heathcote held up his hand for the resolution with the others, and felt
sure, in his own mind, Dick would have done the same.
"Mind, nobody shows up, on any pretext," said Spokes, as the meeting
separated. "We're on our honour, and, of course, no one mentions the
Club out-of-doors."
Of course, nobody would think of such a thing.
Heathcote felt a good deal concerned as the evening went on, and still
no sign came from Dick. It wasn't exactly kind to keep a fellow in
suspense like this. The only thing was to take the bull by the horns,
and announce what _he_ was going to do. Then, possibly, Dick might show
his hand.
"I've decided not to show up at the levee," said Georgie, on the morning
of the eventful day.
"Have you?" said Dick, with a most provoking indifference.
"Yes," said the cunning Georgie. "I tell you what, Dick; while it's
going on, you and I can get the top court and play off our heat for the
handicap. What do you say?"
"Don't know."
Whereupon, Heathcote wished that two words in the English language could
be suspended, and went off to see if any comfort was going in the Den.
But no.
"What's Dick going to do?" asked almost everybody.
"He doesn't know," groaned Heathcote.
Whereupon, the Den, as well as Georgie, wished ill to those two unlucky
words.
The morning passed, and still no ray of light illumined the doubters.
Dick got twenty lines from Pledge for jumping over the geranium bed in
the Quad, and knocking off a flower in the act; and every one guessed
this would decide him against the levee.
But at dinner-time a rumour spread, on the authority of Coote, that he
had put on a clean collar since morning school, and public opinion
immediately veered round to the opposite direction. No sooner, however,
was dinner done than he was seen to fetch his tennis racket from his
study; and once more it was surmised that he was going, after all, to
play off his heat with Georgie instead of attending the ceremony. And
that supposition was in turn dashed to the ground, when it was
discovered that he had got the bat in order to give it to a messenger
from Splicers, the racket maker, to be tightened up in the top cord.
Afternoon school dragged tediously on, and the Den grew desperate.
Fellows went off to dress. But what was the use of Heathcote putting on
his choker, or Smith and Pauncefote parting their hairs, when they
didn't know whether they were going to the levee or not?
Heathcote made one final effort to "draw" the Sphinx.
"Come on," said he, "we'll bag the court if we are sharp, and get an
hour's quiet play."
"I've got no racket," said Dick.
"I say, Dick, _are_ you going to the levee--do tell us?"
"I don't know. What do you want to know for?"
"I--I vote we don't go," said Georgie, coaxingly. "I'm not going."
"I know that."
"Are you?" and there was a tone of desperate pathos in the boy's voice.
"Haven't I told you, a hundred and fifty times, I _don't know_?" replied
Dick, scarcely less desperate.
Heathcote gave it up, and joined the Den, who were waiting about, in
anxious groups, near the door of the Hall, with their ornaments in their
hands, ready to put on at a moment's notice if necessary.
Presently Dick strolled up and joined them.
Hurrah! he had not got his patent leather boots on, after all! A weight
fell from the minds of half the beholders as they cast their eyes down
at his dusty double soles. And yet, if he wasn't going in, what was he
hanging about there for?
Dick would have been very sorry if any of the Den had guessed what was
passing in his mind. He didn't know what to do. If there had been no
one but himself, it wouldn't have mattered. But there was that young
ass Heathcote, and Coote too, who were certain to do as he did; and the
fag of making up his mind for three people was not fair to a fellow.
And yet the Ghost's letter somehow stuck in his mind, and the ballast he
had taken on board during the holidays made it harder to play pitch and
toss with himself than it had been. He didn't like the way Mansfield
had almost dared them to stay away. Because, if it came to that, he
would just as soon let fellows see he wasn't going to be bullied. On
the other hand, the Captain had as good as said it wanted some pluck to
stand out against the rowdies, and that was an argument in favour of
showing up at levee. The worst of it was, when once you showed up, you
were committed to the steady lot, and couldn't well back out. If young
Heathcote--no, he was bound to look after Heathcote.
So, to the amazement and consternation of the Den, after loafing about
at the door for ten minutes, Dick strolled into the Hall, and made his
way up to the platform.
One or two, including Coote, followed him immediately. Others remained
long enough to put on their cuffs and chokers, and then followed suit.
One or two looked at the door, and went back again, and a few talked
about treason and Rule 5.
Heathcote alone was aghast and dumbfounded. For he had never seriously
calculated on his leader's decision; and, being himself under vow not to
present himself, his dilemma was terrible.
Perjury or treason? That was the problem he had to decide at half a
minute's notice, and it was no joke.
As he watched Dick slowly advance up the room, dogged by the faithful
Coote and supported by a bodyguard of loyal followers, his courage
failed, and he could hardly restrain himself from rushing after him.
And yet, the memory of his promise to the "Select Sociables," and the
vision of Braider watching him from a distance, held him where he was.
How he wished he could have a fit, or break his arm, or have his nose
bleed; anything to get him out of this hobble!
But no. He saw Dick ascend the dais and shake hands with the Captain,
who looked almost amiable as he spoke a few words to him. He saw
Pauncefote and Smith and the other, loyal ones come in for the same
greeting. He saw Coote and his watered ribbon being presented by
Cartwright, and he caught sight of Pledge looking up and down the room,
possibly in search of his Georgie.
All this he saw, and yet could not stir. Only when he saw Dick descend
the platform and slowly return towards the door, did the spell yield and
permit him to escape to the Quad.
There half an hour later he was found by Pledge.
"Hullo, youngster; you didn't turn up at the pantomime, then?"
"No," said Heathcote, "I didn't want to."
"What! not want to be shaken hands with and blessed by the holy
Mansfield? You naughty boy, to neglect such a short cut to peace and
plenty!"
"I don't want to toady to anybody," said Heathcote, bitterly.
"Of course you don't. But I'm afraid your courage will cost you
something in impositions and detentions, and that sort of thing."
"What do I care? I'd sooner have any amount of them than be a humbug
and truckle to anybody."
"Every one," said Pledge, with an approving smile, "made sure when your
friend Richardson came to do homage, that you would come too. I was
quite pleased to find I knew better and was right."
"I don't know what made Dick go," said Heathcote.
"No? Can't you guess? Isn't Dick a good boy, and doesn't he always do
what good boys do?"
Heathcote laughed.
"I don't think he's very much in that line."
"Well, he imitates it very well," said Pledge, watching his man
carefully, "and I've no doubt he will find it worth his while."
"What do you mean?" inquired Heathcote, looking up.
"I mean that Mansfield is picking his men for the 3rd Football Fifteen,
and I'm afraid you won't be in it, my boy."
Heathcote said nothing, but walked on to the school door where he and
his patron parted company; the latter proceeding to his study with a
particularly amiable smile on his countenance; the former repairing to
the adjourned meeting of the "Select Sociables," there to hear high
praises of his loyalty and steadfastness, and to partake of a very
select contraband supper, which, with the questionable festivities that
followed, was good for neither the body nor the soul of our unheroic
young hero.