"Oh dear," he said faintly, "I never laughed so much in my life before!

Diggory ought to tell you, because he planned it all. We went very quietly down to Horace House, and found the double doors were shut.

You know just what they're like, how the wall curves in a bit, and there's a sc.r.a.per close to the gate-post, on either side, about a foot from the ground. We'd got an old play-box cord with us, and we tied it to each of the sc.r.a.pers. The doors have a sort of iron ring for a handle, and through this we stuck a broken cricket-stump, and Mug and I held the two ends so that you couldn't possibly lift the latch on the inside. Then--but you go on, Diggy."

"Well, then," continued the other, "I scrambled oh to these two chaps'

shoulders, and looked over the top of the door. We could hear some of the Philistines knocking about on the gravel, and I saw there were about half a dozen of them playing footer with a tennis-ball. I shouted out, 'Hullo! Good-afternoon!' They all stood still in a moment, and young Noaks cried, 'Why, it's a Birchite!--What do you want here, you young dog?' I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I said, 'I want to know if this is the bear-pit or the monkey-house.' My eye, you should have seen them! I dropped down in a trice, and they all rushed to the doors; but they couldn't lift the latch, because Mug and Jack were holding fast to the stump. We waited a moment, and then let go and ran for it. You may judge what happened next. It's a regular sea of mud outside those gates. They all came rushing out together, and I saw Noaks and Hogson go head first over the rope, and two or three others fall flat on the top of them. It was a sight, I can tell you!"

"Yes, but that wasn't all," interrupted Jack Vance. "Bernard, one of their big chaps, hopped over the rest and came after us. We ran for all we were worth, but he collared me. Mugford went for him, and hung on to his coat like a young bull-terrier, and got a smack on the nose; and just then Diggory turned, and came prancing back, and ran his head into the beggar's stomach, and that doubled him up, and so we all got away. But," concluded the speaker, turning towards his wounded comrade, "I never thought old Mug had so much grit in him before; he stuck to it like a Briton!"

A demonstration of the most genuine enthusiasm followed this warlike speech. Acton folded Diggory to his breast in a loving embrace, Shaw and Morris stuffed the door-key down Mugford's back, while the remainder of the company executed a war-dance round Jack Vance.

"My eye," cried the dux, "won't the Philistines be wild!

Fancy upsetting them in the mud, and knocking Bernard's wind out!

They won't be in a hurry to meddle with us again. Well done, Diggy!"

"It wasn't I alone," said the author of the enterprise; "we did it between us--the Triple Alliance."

"Then three cheers for the Triple Alliance!" cried Acton.

The company shouted themselves hoa.r.s.e, for every one felt that the honour of The Birches had been retrieved, and that the day was still far distant when they would be crushed beneath the iron heel of young Noaks, or be exposed as an unresisting prey to the ravages of the wild hordes of Horace House.

CHAPTER IV.

THE SUPPER CLUB.

As this story is to be a history of the Triple Alliance, and not of The Birches, it will be necessary to pa.s.s over many things which happened at the preparatory school, in order that full justice may be done to the important parts played by our three friends in an epoch of strange and stirring events at Ronleigh College.

Diggory, by the daring exploit described in the previous chapter, won all hearts; and instead of being looked upon as a new boy, was regarded quite as an old and trusty comrade. Acton displayed marked favour towards the Triple Alliance, and was even more friendly with Diggory and Jack Vance than with his room and cla.s.s mates, Shaw and Morris.

The Philistines seemed, for the time being, paralyzed by the humiliation of their mud bath, and for many months there was a complete cessation from hostilities.

It was perhaps only natural that in time of peace a brave knight like Acton should turn his thoughts from war to love-making, and therefore I shall make no excuse for relating a little experience of his which must be introduced as a prelude to the account of the formation of the famous supper club.

At the very commencement of the summer term it was plain to everybody that something was wrong with the dux; he seemed to take no interest in the doings of his companions in the playground, and only once roused himself sufficiently to bang Cross with a leg-guard for bowling awful wides at cricket.

At length, one afternoon, Diggory and Jack Vance on entering the shed found him sitting on the carpenter's bench, with his chin resting in his hand, and a most ferocious expression on his face.

"Hullo! what's up?"

Acton stared blankly at the new-comers until the question had been repeated; then he sat up and straightened his back with the air of one who has made a great resolve.

"I don't mind telling you two," he said. "You know I've said before that I meant some day to propose to Miss Eleanor. Well," he added, stabbing the bench with the gimlet, "I'm going to do it."

"I've saved five and ninepence," continued the speaker, "to buy a ring with, but I can't make up my mind whether I'd better speak or write to her. What do you think?"

"I should say," answered Diggory, after a moment's thought, "that the best thing would be to toss up for it."

"All right; have you got a coin?"

"No, but I think I've got a bra.s.s b.u.t.ton. Yes, here it is. Now, then, front you speak, and back you write. There you are--it's a letter!"

"Well, now," said Acton, getting off the bench and sticking his hands deep in his trousers pockets, "what had I better say? I shall be fifteen in August; I thought I'd tell her my age, and say I didn't mind waiting."

"I believe it's the girl who always says that," answered Jack Vance, kicking a bit of wood into a corner.

"Then, again, I don't know how to begin. Would you say 'Dear Miss Eleanor,' or 'Dear Miss Welsby'? I think 'Dear Eleanor' sounds rather cheeky."

"I'll tell you what I should do," answered Diggory, who seemed to have a great idea of letting the fates decide these matters: "I should write 'em all three on slips of paper and then draw one."

"Well, I'm going to write the letter in 'prep' this evening, and let her have it to-morrow. Did you notice I gave her a flower this morning, and she stuck it in her dress?"

"Yes; but fellows are often doing that," answered Jack Vance, "and she always wears them, either in her dress or stuck up somehow under her brooch."

"Oh, but this was a white rose, and a white rose means something, though I don't know what. At all events, she'll have the letter to-morrow, and I'll tell you fellows when I give it her, only of course you mustn't breathe a word to any one else."

"All right: we won't," answered Diggory, "except to old Mugford, because he's one of the Alliance, and we've sworn not to have any secrets from each other, and he won't split."

That evening the Triple Alliance lay awake until a late hour discussing the situation. Mugford's opening comment was certainly worth recording,--

"I hope she'll accept him."

"Why?"

"Why, because if she does, I should think old Welsby'll give us a half-holiday."

It was evident at breakfast, to those who were in the know, that Acton was prepared for the venture. He was wearing a clean collar and new necktie, and ate only four pieces of bread and b.u.t.ter, besides his bacon.

"He's shown me the letter," whispered Diggory to Jack Vance; "only I promised I wouldn't say what was in it, but it ends up with a piece of poetry as long as this table!"

After morning school was the time agreed upon for the dux to cast the die which was to decide his future; and as soon as the cla.s.ses were dismissed, Jack Vance and Diggory met him by appointment in one corner of the garden.

"I've done it," he said, looking awfully solemn. "She was in the hall, and I gave it to her as I came out. I say, how many _t's_ are there in 'attachment'?"

Jack Vance thought one, Diggory said two; and the company then relapsed into silence, and stood with gloomy looks upon their faces, as though they were waiting to take part in a funeral procession.

At length a voice from the house was heard calling, "Fred--Fred Acton!"

The dux turned a trifle pale, but pulling himself together, marched off with a firm step to learn his fate.

"She called him Fred," murmured Diggory; "that sounds hopeful."

"Oh, that's nothing," answered Jack Vance; "Miss Eleanor always calls fellows by their Christian names. There's one thing," he added, after a few moments' thought--"if she'd cut up rough over the letter, she might have called him Mr. Acton. Hullo, here he comes!" As he spoke Acton emerged from the house, and came down the path towards them; his straw hat was tilted forward over his eyes, and his cheeks were glowing like the red gla.s.s of a dark-room lamp. He sauntered along, kicking up the gravel with the toe of his boot.

"Well, what happened?" inquired Jack Vance.

No answer.

"What's the matter ?" cried Diggory; "what did she say?"