Follow My leader is a Webnovel created by Talbot Baines Reed.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
Fortunately for the peace, Cresswell at that moment entered the study.
“Hallo!” said he, looking round, “make yourselves at home in my study, youngsters. Can’t you ask a few friends in as well? What’s the row?”
“Braider’s the row,” said d.i.c.k; “I want him to cut, and he won’t. He wants me to–“
“All right,” said Braider, in sudden concern, lest the secret of the “Sociables” was to be divulged, “I’ll cut. And don’t you forget, young Richardson, what you’ve promised.”
“Of course I shan’t,” said d.i.c.k.
The select “Sociables” sat in congress to a late hour that night. What pa.s.sed, no one outside that worthy body exactly knew. But Braider, on the whole, had a busy time of it.
He did not visit d.i.c.k again, but he interviewed both Culver and Heathcote, and was extremely confidential with each. And both Culver and Heathcote, after preparation, lounged outside the door, as d.i.c.k had lounged two hours before. And the two loungers, neither of them fancying the intrusion of the other, came to words, and from words proceeded to personalities, and from personalities to blows.
And as, in the course of the combat, Heathcote made a mighty onslaught and caught his enemy round the body and wrestled a fall with him on the threshold of the “Sociable” door, it so happened that the door, not being securely latched, gave way beneath the weight of the two combatants, and swinging suddenly open, precipitated them both on to the floor of the apartment, just as the Club was proceeding to record its votes.
Be it said to their credit, the select “Sociables” had a soul above mere routine, and seeing the contest was even, and that blood was up on both sides, they adjourned the business and hospitably invited the two candidates to fight it out there and then.
Which the two candidates did, with the result that, on the whole, Heathcote got rather less of the worst of it than Culver. Then, having politely ejected them both, the Club returned to business, and elected George Heathcote as a fit and proper person to fill the vacancy caused by the unjust expulsion of the late Alan Forbes.
Heathcote was thereupon brought in and informed of the honour bestowed upon him; and after being sworn to secrecy, and promising to obey the Club in all things, was called upon for a speech.
Heathcote’s speech was short and memorable:–
“All serene. Anything you like. I don’t care a hang.”
Every sentence of this brilliant oration was cheered to the echo, and Heathcote was installed into his new dignity with loud enthusiasm.
He had not a ghost of an idea who the “Sociables” were, what they did, or what they wanted; but he had a rough idea they were a select a.s.sembly not favoured by the monitors or the masters, in which a fellow was popular in proportion to his record of “rows.”
And Heathcote, whose one ambition it was at present, under Pledge’s influence, not to figure as a prig or a hypocrite, cast his lot in with them, and chanced the rest.
It did occur to him to enquire if d.i.c.k was a member.
“Yes, he’s a member, rather,” said Spokes, the president. “He was elected this evening, wasn’t he, you fellows?”
“Rather,” echoed the high-souled club, winking at one another.
Whereupon Heathcote asked no more questions, and proceeded to enjoy himself.
As the Club was breaking up, Twiss, one of its leading spirits, came up to the new member and said–
“Look here, youngster, don’t you forget you’re on your honour not to say a word about the Club outside to anybody. Not to Pledge, or your chum, or anybody.”
“But d.i.c.k’s a member too,” said Heathcote.
“That does not matter. You mayn’t even speak about it to me, or pretend you belong to my set. Do you twig?”
“All right,” said Heathcote, “it’s a good job you told me, though, for I was going to tell d.i.c.k about my election.”
“Well, you know now. You’re on your honour, so are we all.”
n.o.ble society! Organised dishonour held together in bonds of honour!
If boys were only to cast round what is right the same shield of honour which they so often cast round what is wrong, what a world this would be!
When Heathcote and d.i.c.k met that evening in the dormitory, they had something more important to talk about or to be silent about than the select “Sociables.”
“Look here, old man,” said d.i.c.k, thrusting a piece of newspaper into his friend’s hand. “They wrapped up the notepaper I got in town to-day in this. It’s a bit of last week’s _Templeton Observer_.”
Heathcote looked at the paragraph his friend pointed to, and read:–
*The mysterious disappearance of a boat*.–Up to the present no news has been heard of the _Martha_ of Templeton, which is supposed to have been stolen from its moorings on the night of the 24th ult. The police, however, profess to have a clue to the perpetrators of the robbery. It is stated that late on the evening in question a lad, without shoes or stockings, was seen on the strand in the neighbourhood of the boat, and as the lad has been lost sight of since, it is supposed he may be concerned. At present the police are unable to give a description of the suspected lad, but vigilant enquiries are being prosecuted, and it is hoped that before long the mystery may be solved and the culprit brought to justice.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
IN WHICH OUR HEROES DO NOT DISTINGUISH THEMSELVES.
One result of the alarming paragraph in the _Templeton Observer_ was, that d.i.c.k and Heathcote for the remainder of the term became models of virtue as far as going out of school bounds was concerned.
Other boys might stray down the High Street and look at the shops, but they didn’t. Others might go down to the beach and become familiar with the boatmen, but our heroes were far too respectable. Others might “mitch” off for a private cruise round Sprit Rock in quest of whiting, or other treasures of the deep; but d.i.c.k and Georgie would not sully their fair fame with any such breach of Templeton rules.
They kept up early morning “Tub,” but that was the limit of their wanderings from the fold, and it was often amusing to mark the diligence with which they always took to drying their heads with the towels on the way up, if ever a boatman happened to cross their path.
Heathcote on more than one occasion was compelled, politely but firmly, to decline Pledge’s commissions into the town, although it sometimes cost him words, and, worse still, sneers from his patron.
Once, however, he had to yield, and a terrible afternoon he spent in consequence.
“Youngster,” said the ‘Spider,’ “I want you to go to Webster’s in High Street and get a book for me.”
“Afraid I can’t, Pledge,” said Heathcote. “I must swot this afternoon.”
“What have you got to do?”
“There’s thirty lines of Cicero, and I haven’t looked at them.”
“I’ll do it for you before you come back.”
“And there are some Latin verses for Westover, too.”
“Leave them with me, too.”
Heathcote felt uncomfortable, and it occurred to him it was not right to accept another’s help.
“I think I ought to do them myself,” said he, “I don’t like having them done for me.”
“Quite right, my dear young friend. You’re beginning to find out it pays to be a good little boy, are you? I always said you would. I only hope you’ll make a good thing of it.”
Heathcote coloured up violently.