“A short while ago,” said Rouse, “I was beginning to brood, and so they told me. Now it’s you who are beginning to brood, so we’ve told you. We’ve been keeping it as a kind of tonic for those who get downhearted. The fewer people who know, the safer the secret.”
“Only,” said Terence, “it’s getting near the time now when we ought to tell some of the chaps. There ought not to be any harm now in letting the news filter through to some of the young ’uns. If they’re getting restless it’s just the kind of thing to steady them and keep them solid.”
“It’ll be our saving,” said Saville. “If this gets known, the Head’s idea of wearing them down hasn’t got an earthly.”
“There is one other point. We’ve got to consider what the Head will do if he finds out, and I think we can take it he will. The best part of the school will go to Rainhurst to see the match and that will give the show away.... Then what will he do? Whom will he drop on?”
“Precisely. It _will_ be you, and we’ve got to guard against that. We must stand together. If he blames you, every man jack must step forward and take his share of the blame. I shall say that the idea was mine. Terence will declare that he made the plans, so on and thusly. We shall all agree that the only part you took in the affair was to captain the side. And if he tries to expel you——”
Then he rose to his feet and stretched himself.
“I feel a different man. I should very much like to burst into song. Tell me, is there any objection to my repeating this to anyone else?—Betteridge, for example? I should absolutely love to. There’s a touch of the dramatic about it, and I should just enjoy laying myself out to break this news to him in my best style. He’s decidedly broody too, if that’s the chief qualification for admission to the secret circle.”
“Yes, I don’t see why you shouldn’t tell Betteridge,” said Rouse, and hesitated. “But I shouldn’t tell anyone else in Seymour’s just for the moment.” He looked at Saville shrewdly, and Saville caught his meaning and nodded his head. Then Rouse rose and stood dreamily with one hand extended as if to indicate the beauty of the distant landscape.
“I seem to see a certain Saturday afternoon. There will be an unwonted calm about the old school. The Head—God bless him!—will be sleeping by the fire. His carpet slippers will be dangling from his toes. His waistcoat will be comfortably loosened.... Suddenly he will wake with a start and he will be struck by the eerie stillness everywhere about him. He will rise and look out of the window. At first he will see nothing. He will climb to a window on the top floor, and then with a kind of telescopic eye he will see everything at once. He will look along every road that leads towards Rainhurst and he will see several small clouds of dust. Dimly he will make out the figures of all kinds and conditions of Harley fellows footing it along at a good pace, some even riding bicycles or getting lifts in carts. He will see the railway station crowded with the chaps who can afford to buy railway tickets. He will see trains on the move with our chaps leaning out and waving coloured handkerchiefs at him. It will be like a Derby day. At last he will send for the bursar. ‘Look here,’ he will say, ‘What is all that commotion? What’s on?’ The bursar will look at him wisely. ‘Didn’t you know?’ he’ll say. ‘There’s a very big match on to-day. The school are playing Rainhurst.’ The only thing I regret,” he added, “is that by going to Rainhurst to play I shall not be able to be present in the Head’s room at that moment.”