A meeting was summoned for the same evening to inaugurate things generally. I was a little doubtful what I ought to do. Last term philosophy had not tended to diligent work, and with my good resolutions in view I felt that I should be better out of it. The little tiff with my comrades before the holidays had almost solved the difficulty; but since then I had been formally re-admitted to the fold, and it would be almost treasonable to "scratch" now.

"I _move_ and third, and old Trim seconds and fourths," announced Langrish, "that old Sal be, and is, president as before."

"And I carry that motion," said Warminster, who prided himself on his acquaintance with the procedure of public meetings.

"I move an amendment," said I.

"Shut up, or you'll be kicked out again," said the secretary.

"Shut up yourself, or you'll be kicked in," retorted I, feeling I must carry everything with a high hand if I was to carry them at all. "No.

Look here, you chaps, I'm not so green as I look."

"Then you must look fearfully green," muttered c.o.xhead.

I took no heed of the interruption, which was not relevant, and proceeded,--

"It was all very well last term, but it won't wash this. What I say is, that if the c.o.c.k of the school is the head boy in the school, and the c.o.c.k of the house is the head boy in the house, the president of the Philosophers has got to be the chap highest up in the Philosophers, and that's not me. Now old Warminster is. _He's_ a jolly clever chap, and got the form prize on his head, and he's a rattling good speaker, and a middling sprinter, and writes a fairly good hand! _He's_ the sort of chap we want. We want some one who can keep the secretary, and treasurer, and auditor, and registrar, and all that lot, in their place, and doesn't mind telling them they're idiots when they are. I never could do it. It's rough on the club not to have a chap like Warminster," continued I, waxing warm, and undaunted by the murmurs of my audience. "He can make you all sit up. He's not the sort of chap to let the Philosophers go rotting about, talking what they know nothing about and all that. He'll see that the louts are kept out of it, and only fellows who've got a record of something are let in. Bless you, I used to let in any sort of bounder that asked! Look round you and see.

That's the sort of lot I let in. It won't wash, though. Fancy having a lot of outsiders who can't translate a Latin motto, and make 'corpore' a feminine genitive! Now old Warminster's a nailer at Latin, and can put one or two of us to bed at Euclid. He'll keep us out of blunders of that sort, that make all the school grin at us. I therefore propose, fifth, fourth, third, and second, that Tip. Warminster is the president of the Philosophers, and that the secretary, treasurer, auditor, registrar, and all that lot, get a month's notice to jack it up unless they're on the front desk. There you are! Of course they won't like it--can't help that. No back-deskers for us. Front desk or nothing!"

This oration, the longest I ever delivered so far, and in all probability the longest I ever shall deliver, was listened to with a curious mixture of discomfort and attention. At first it was nearly howled down, but it took as it went on. Warminster, for whom I really did not feel quite so much admiration as my words seemed to imply, but who yet was the hard-working man of our lot--Warminster was wonderfully pleased with it. The others, one by one, dropped their noisy protests, and looked out of the window. Trimble attempted a little bravado, by sticking his tongue in his cheek; but my peroration was listened to with marked attention.

"Cuts down the club a bit," said c.o.xhead, who occupied a desk in cla.s.s on the third row, "if it's only to be top-deskers."

"Cuts old Sal out, to begin with," said Langrish, who was just on the bench of honour.

"It'll cut you out next week, old hoss," said I.

"Me! What are you talking about?"

"You wait till the week's order is up: you'll see."

Langrish glared indignantly.

"If you think an idiot like you is going to--"

"Look here," said Warminster, "I vote we go easy at first, and make it any one who's not gone down in order in a month."

"I say, n.o.body who's not gone up one in the term," suggested Langrish, glancing defiantly at me.

"All serene," said I, "that'll suit my book. It'll be roughish on you, though."

"Will it? See how you'll feel when you're chucked out neck and crop, my beauty!"

My main object had been to get out of being president. But, somehow, in doing it I had struck a note which made the Philosophers sit up. It was no credit to me it happened so, but it was one of those lucky flukes which sometimes turn out well and do a good stroke without the striker being aware of it.

Warminster was unanimously elected president, and bore his blushing honours with due meekness.

"Old Sal"--the Philosophers had taken to abbreviating my pet name this term, I know not on what principle of familiarity--"Old Sal piles it on a bit," remarked he. "Of course he couldn't help rotting the club a bit last term. That's the way he's born. But considering what a rank outsider he was, I suppose he did his best." (Laughter, and cries of "What about Jarman's guy?") "Yes, that was a howling mess. I vote we keep out of that this term, or leave it to the louts. I tell you what,"

said he, "I vote we make a show up at the sports next month, and take some of the side out of those day-boy kids. They fancy themselves a jolly sight too much."

"d.i.c.ky Brown told me," said I, "they were sure of both the jumps and the Quarter-mile and the Tug--and that Selkirk's were going to pull off the others, all except the Half-mile Handicap; and we may get that, he says, because they'll probably give us fifty or sixty yards' lead."

"Howling cheek!" exclaimed every one in furious rage. The idea of being given sixty yards' start in a half-mile by a day boy was too much even for a Philosopher.

Whereupon we solemnly considered the list of events "under 15," and divided them out among ourselves, with a vow to eat our heads if we didn't pull off as many for Sharpe's as all the rest of the school put together.

We decided to postpone making our entries till the last moment, so as to delude the enemy into the impression that we were shirking the sports altogether. Then we would, as Warminster politely put it, "drop down and rot the lot."

Before we adjourned for the night the question of Tempest and Crofter came up, _a propos_ of a report, which some one mentioned, that Tempest had entered for the Open Mile against Redwood, and was expected to prove a warm customer.

"Is Crofter in?"

"No--Pridgin is, but of course he won't come up to scratch, and Wales only enters for the show of the thing."

"Crofter couldn't look in at Tempest over the Mile," said Langrish, "but he ought to enter, for all that."

"Can he look in at Tempest over anything?" said I.

"Don't ask questions, and you won't be told no whoppers," astutely replied Trimble. "I wonder if he expects us to back him up?"

"I sha'n't," said one. "Nor shall I," said one or two others.

"I vote we let him alone," said c.o.xhead. "What's he got to do with us?

When does he come across us? Only when there's a row on. He's got nothing at all to say to us at other times."

"You mean, if we want to let him alone we shall have to shut up rows?"

inquired Langrish. "Rather rough, isn't it?"

"Not if he knows the reason," suggested I. "Let's send him a round- robin and let him know."

"Not half a bad idea."

Whereupon the following candid epistle was concocted and signed by all present:--

"To T. Crofter, Esquire, Captain Sharpe's _pro tem_., etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

"Dear Crofter,--We the undersigned Philosophers wish to say we're going steady this term on our own hooks, and hope you will not think it's because of you. We don't want to be interfered with by any chap except old Tempest, who ought to be c.o.c.k of Sharpe's, so we've decided to go steady, so as not to be interfered with, because we would rather not you interfered with us, because we're all serene and are backing up Tempest, and hope he'll pull off the Mile that you've not entered for. We aren't down on you, because you pulled Tempest through last term, but it's rough you're c.o.c.k of the house instead of him, and therefore on that account we are going steady, so as not to give you the f.a.g of interfering with us, which we don't mind Tempest doing because we consider he has more right to interfere with us than you. Hoping you are well and in good health, as this leaves us, Believe us, with kind regards to all at home, Yours very kindly and in alphabetical order, so that you needn't know who started this letter. Samuel Wilberforce c.o.xhead, Thomas Jones, Everard Langrish, Jonathan T. Purkis, Alfred James Remington Trimble, Percy Algernon Warminster, and others."

This important doc.u.ment, the writing of which, I grieve to say, necessitated frequent reference to the English Dictionary, Langrish, as Crofter's f.a.g, undertook to deliver, and faithfully discharged his mission by leaving it on the captain's table when he was out of his study.

It was decided to resist the temptation of sending Mr Jarman a similar explanatory letter, for fear it might lead to a row which would call for interference. Nor was it deemed prudent under the circ.u.mstances to commit ourselves in writing to Tempest, whom we hoped to convince of our loyalty by cheering him on every possible occasion and otherwise making things pleasant for him.

How Crofter enjoyed his letter we none of us knew. He was inconsiderate enough to give no sign of having received it; and still more inconsiderate to allow himself on more than one occasion to be publicly complimented by the doctor and Mr Sharpe on the order of the house.

Meanwhile the Philosophers stuck to their new programme. I had the satisfaction of pulling down Langrish from his place on the top desk at the end of the first week, and he had the triumph of recovering his seat at the end of the week after. In the seclusion of the f.a.ggery we indulged in a few mild recriminations, which were the natural outcome of our rivalry; but they only served to blow off steam, and we were too keen to win our self-imposed battles in cla.s.s to allow personal feeling to interfere much with our work.

Mr Sharpe was fairly astonished, and took off his gla.s.ses, and rubbed his mild eyes as he read over our really meritorious exercises and listened to our sometimes positively coherent feats of construing.

Secretly, too, but with great precaution, and in spots far removed from the detection of the day boys, we practised grimly at jumping and sprinting and record-breaking generally, and finally, as the critical time for making our entries approached, agreed upon the particular exploit which each of us was to undertake for the honour and glory of Sharpe's house in general and Philosophy in particular.