There had not even been a rumour what was wrong. The few who knew had kept their counsel absolutely. For this reason the Rugger meeting came as a mild shock to those gentlemen of high place in the school whose privilege it was to attend it. They were the same counsellors who formed the house committees, and for certain purposes they were on special occasions called together to debate some important matter. Their chief duty this term was, of course, the formal election of the school captain of football, and this had only just been carried out. Ordinarily after this their services were not required. Many of them expected to win their own colours, and it was obviously undesirable for them to sit on the small executive committee that would judge the merits of rivals. Matters pertaining to the First Fifteen, to honours generally, and to the organisation of training throughout the school rested, therefore, with a trio composed of the captain, the honorary secretary and the games master, and of these the captain himself was virtually dictator. That was the custom of the school.

House committees were formed on a different basis. Here one found merely the senior boys in each house, though as a matter of course many of these were also leading lights in school sport. They met together as a school committee on almost anything that needed to be discussed: in summer to talk cricket, in winter to plan the broad lines of the season’s football, and sometimes to debate such matters as the Christmas concert or the big cross-country run. To be called together for no apparent reason so soon after they had met came, therefore, as a surprise to them, and they filed into the big room and sat them down in silent dignity. They did not nudge each other or make play with their eyebrows to denote their wonder. They had mostly come to the age when it seems a great thing to pretend one knows something which the next man does not know, and only a man like Toby Nicholson, who knew the type peculiarly well, would have read their casual bearing aright. Their seeming indifference, the way some whistled softly to themselves, the general lack of any evidence of curiosity, denoted an undercurrent that meant sensation.

When they were ready Toby rose. He was not at all in love with his task. He was, if anything, a little nervous. He could not tell for a few moments how the school were going to take it.

“The day before yesterday,” said he, “you met to elect the captain of football. We have had to call you together again to-day to elect another one. I am sorry to say that the Headmaster does not approve of Rouse as your choice.”

There was no buzz. No one sprang to his feet. The silence was deadly. It was as clear as day that it was going to take them a few minutes to believe it.

Toby gave them those few minutes, and when he judged that it had thoroughly got home on them he spoke again.

“The Headmaster wished me to tell you,” he said, “that the captain of football must be a senior in the Sixth Form.”

He did not say more. There was really no need to tell them that he must also be a boy who wore the cloak of dignity—that one proviso limited their choice sufficiently.

“His particular wish is that, if practicable, the captain of football should be the captain of the school,” said Toby. Then he made a gesture of finality and sat down.

There came now a slight shuffling of feet. The counsellors were turning one to the other; there was hoarse whispering, occasional sharp sounds of absolute amazement.

At last the captain of the school rose in his seat. He did not play football at all. He made up verses that didn’t rhyme and secured good prizes for them. Nevertheless he was a good fellow, and it was clear that the news that he might be expected to lead the Fifteen on to the field in cap and gown had had a pronounced effect upon him. He was really quite shaken up.

“But does the Headmaster know the practice at this school, sir?”

“Oh yes,” said Toby. “He knows what it always has been ever since I can remember. I’ve done all that a man could do to persuade him to respect our unwritten laws. The Headmaster, however, is a man of very strong views. He is determined on a new method.”

“Well, I’m blowed,” said the captain of the school, and sat down with a jerk.

Next moment Rouse had half risen from his chair, and, in the awkward manner of a boy whose lifelong nightmare has always been that he might one day be called upon for a speech, turned towards the assembly.

“It’s quite true,” said he a little huskily. “I’ve been rather prominent in doing the very things the new Head hates most ever since he came, it seems. Mr Nicholson’s done his best to keep me—but it’s no use. I’m terribly sorry. It seems a sort of disgrace to the school. They’ll get to hear about this at other places—Rainhurst and Wilton—and they’ll guess I’m a general rotter and wonder why I haven’t been sacked. I——”

He stopped and seemed to be searching for the right words. Few of those present had ever heard Rouse speak in such grave tones before, and it did more than anything else to bring home the truth to them. There was a sympathetic silence.

“There’s nothing else to be said. I resign, of course. Pointon doesn’t play football. It’s useless to propose him. Perhaps, though, once the Head gets rid of me he may listen to reason more. I think that if you elect a fellow who is at least in the Sixth you might get his approval. So I propose Smythe.”

He slowly subsided into his chair. There came a growing murmur of angry distress. Suddenly people noticed that in the far corner of the room Smythe was already upon his feet.

“There’s no need to waste time considering that at all,” he said, with considerable vexation. “At the other meeting some misguided ass got up on his hind legs and proposed me. I said then that whilst Rouse was at the school there could be no other skipper worth considering at all, and you all cheered. I say that again now. If Rouse isn’t good enough for this job you can put me down as not playing Rugger at all, let alone being captain of it. I was the first to congratulate Rouse the other day, and I’m the first now to propose that we refuse to accept his resignation.”

His lips had spoken the words that had been on the tip of every other fellow’s tongue. None other could have so aptly expressed their feelings.

There was a chorus of vehement approval. In the fierce clapping and the clatter of feet on the floor Rouse had a quick insight into the depth of their inexplicable affection for him. He was honestly astounded. He was also considerably upset. He could not face saying any more. He just sat where he was and pretended to be taking no notice, but his acting was not very good. For one thing, his face was brick-red.

At last Toby rose stolidly to his feet. He began to hate his position more and more. He was very human and he was heart and soul with them in their feelings. It was the hardest thing of all to make of himself counsel for the defence, and the long and the short of it was that he could not do it. If he managed to get through this meeting without a vote of detestation being passed upon Dr Roe it would to his mind be a notable achievement. He was conscious that as a master he had a certain disciplinary responsibility, but he was very unhappy about it. There was too much of the old boy in Toby.

He looked round them sadly. At last he spoke.

“It’s a very bad business,” said he. “I think as you do—that Rouse couldn’t be bettered for this job.... The only other point to consider is how the school will be affected if you refuse to accept his resignation. The Head will not give in to you. If it comes to a fight he has every advantage. It may mean that you ruin our fixture list for the season.... It will certainly draw attention to an incident that we might otherwise keep fairly quiet so as to prevent the wrong construction being put upon it. If we’re to have a good season it’s essential to get started at once. The team for next Saturday ought to be chosen to-day so as to start practice. If you decide against the Head you may cause delay that we shall never be able to make up.”

“Well, we’re not going to give up Rouse, sir,” cried someone in sheer indignation.

Toby turned to him.

“That isn’t the point,” he said. “I’m absolutely with you. I believe that without Rouse to lead the Fifteen we shan’t have a real good season. But we mustn’t make it too hard for the man who sooner or later may have to take it on. I’ve talked to the Head till I couldn’t talk any more. It made no shadow of difference at all. The Head will never give in. His mind’s made up, and although it’s true that we oughtn’t to give up Rouse, I shouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t make you see both sides of the picture. It’s for you to decide; I’m only just telling you how matters stand in case you forget.”

He sat down wretchedly.

Next moment Rouse turned to them again. He did not get up. There was something too urgent about the atmosphere for much formality.

“It’s quite right,” said he. “You mustn’t muck up the season. I’ve resigned. That’s all there is to it. Go on. Don’t be boobs. I propose Nicholson. The Head can’t refuse him. He’s one of the top six in the school.”

All heads turned slowly to regard Terence as if half in doubt and half in hope. Terence stiffened like a man electrocuted and shot to his feet.

“No!” he shouted. “It’s all rot! Rouse has got to be captain. He was made for it. It’s no use going on proposing other people. We’ve elected Rouse.”

There was an appreciative silence, then an animated discussion, and amidst it a young man rose from his seat and lifted his hand for silence.

“There’s only one other old colour who’s in the Sixth,” said he. “Coles. So I’ll propose him.”

He sat down as if he had done a piece of useful work by thoroughly clearing the decks for real debate. What followed, therefore, came as a very painful surprise to him. Others were merely disgusted. He was honestly hurt. To suppose that he had spoken seriously was the most insulting thought anyone could have had of him.

Coles had arisen and could be seen looking earnestly upon them. His voice was unmistakably clear though he spoke quietly, and he made one modest gesture with his hand. He had not so much as waited to see the result of the proposal, had not given anyone even a chance to second it.

“If it’s for the good of the school,” said he, “of course I’ll do my best.... It’s just as you like. Whatever seems right to you fellows....” There was a cutting silence; not so much as a movement helped him. He remained standing. He looked round hopefully. “Whatever Mr Nicholson thinks best,” said he. “If you propose me—I’ll certainly——”

At last somebody spoke. It was difficult to identify the gentleman, but from the murmur of approval that followed it was clear that he voiced the opinion of all those present.

The voice said: “Sit down, you ass.”

With a sudden flush of acute self-consciousness Coles disappeared from view.

Then there rose up one other spokesman.

It was the captain of the school. He brought a touch of dignity into the atmosphere that was not unwelcome.

“Well, I’ve listened to what’s been said,” he told them, “and it hasn’t taken me long to form my opinion. I’m no footer man—but I’ve got the interests of the school as much at heart as any of you. And I know Rouse. I’m no fighting man either. I like peace and quiet. Arguments I can’t bear. But I’m afraid a fight and an argument will have to come. The soundest proposal made has been Smythe’s. He says we refuse to accept Rouse’s resignation, and I think you’d like the Head to know that as captain of the school I second that.”

There was a pleasant and concerted cheer. He sat down with a slight flush. Then hand-clapping broke out. It grew loud and continuous. Next they began to shout. Some got on to their feet and waved in Rouse’s direction excitedly. The shouting grew into a thunderous ovation. Here and there earnest students like the captain of the school found themselves jumping foolishly on to forms and falling off again in the hopes of getting a really good view of Rouse. It grew louder and more emphatic. The very walls were trembling with enthusiasm. Rouse stood up and tried to stop them. They went on. It may be that they rather hoped the new Head would hear them and ask what it was all about. Toby made no effort to exercise control. As a matter of fact he was smiling. It seemed to him just as well to let them have it out. Eventually it began to die down a little. Fellows were forcing their way towards Rouse and thumping him on the back. Others were reaching for his hand. And above all they were still shouting his name delightedly aloud and making gestures of eternal allegiance to their chosen.

In the end it was Smythe who got a hearing first.

“It may be as well,” said he, “to decide on the form in which this decision ought to be communicated to the Head. What about a deputation?”

“The usual way,” said Toby cheerfully, “would be for me to go along and tell him.”

They looked at one another. The point was worth considering.

“There are some matters,” said Toby, “that might be better discussed in my absence, of course.” He paused. “If I were to go along and see the Head now you fellows might be talking it over between you, and then if a deputation should be necessary you’d know whom to select to form it.”

He waited a moment. There was the loud sound that indicated a crowd’s approval.

“Well, sir,” said the captain of the school, rising yet again, “that seems the best thing to do. Would you mind describing to the Headmaster the exact manner in which the proposal to refuse his resignation has been carried, and why it is so strongly supported? I think he ought to know that.”

“I think so myself,” said Toby. “I shall certainly tell him.”

He moved slowly down the room. There was a pleasant smile upon his face. It was as if a prophecy of his had come true.

The counsellors rose as he passed down their midst, and seeing how pleasantly he smiled they slowly answered, and one by one they smiled back at him as he went upon his errand.

The moment he had really gone they turned as one man to Rouse.

“But why is it?” they demanded. “What’s gone wrong? He’s only just come here. How on earth does he know who’s the best captain?”

Rouse shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s that idiotic little fat boy,” said Terence. “He’s the cause of all the trouble. He went and laid evidence against Rouse as a bully and the Head believes him, and then he came over to see how Rouse behaved in his natural haunts and Rouse was singing a part-song with the house porter. He smote the Head with the leg of a table, too—just to emphasise the fact.”

“What fat boy?” demanded Pointon. “Why haven’t they got hold of the fat boy then? Why don’t they bump him? Let’s go and fetch the fat boy and make him go to the Head and withdraw what he said.”

“It’s no use,” said Terence. “Toby went and tackled him himself and asked him whether he knew what he’d done. And eventually he said that he’d go to the Head and try to make it all right. So he did, the fool; and when the Head saw Toby again he said the little hero had been to him and asked that Rouse should not be punished in any way, because he was afraid that if he were fellows would blame him and call him a sneak. So the Head said it was clear that somebody had been getting at him, and demanded that Toby should find out who it was and bring him up before him. Toby said that the only chap who’d got at him was he himself, and explained the true story of what had happened; and he also said that another new kid called Carr was a witness, and that I was too. But the Head wouldn’t believe it. He said there was too much hanky-panky going on. He said that at Wilton he had the reputation of being an infallible judge of character and that he knew as well as he knew his own name that Rouse had been bullying the kid. As a matter of fact that was only one point. He was looking at the new-comers’ footer, and he says Rouse made a dead set for the same boy... and then, of course, he came across to the house to see what Rouse did when he thought nobody was looking, and that’s how he found him.”

He made an expressive gesture and was silent.

“Look here,” said Pointon, “be more explanatory. What was the bullying? What have witnesses got to do with it?”

Terence explained.

“But, surely,” said Pointon, “when the Head knows the truth he can’t refuse to believe it.... That’s all bosh.”

“What Toby says,” pointed out Terence, “is that what we’ve got up against us now isn’t a charge against Rouse that’s got to be disproved at all. It’s the Head’s own character. The Head is a man who’ll never admit himself in the wrong. Even if there’s nothing else behind it, that’s enough. He’s taken a definite line and now he won’t budge from it for fear of his reputation. He’s an idea we may try to make him alter his mind and he’s determined he won’t. Whatever evidence we could bring up now wouldn’t make any difference at all.”

Pointon grew annoyed. He was a studious boy with rather definite opinions of his own and a particularly strong sense of justice.

“That’s preposterous,” said he. “No man’s got a right to do a thing like that. He’s not a dictator. We’ve always elected our own captains at games.... This is all rot. Do you mean to say he’s going to make Rouse suffer like this and ruin the school’s footer season just because he hasn’t the decency to admit himself in the wrong?”

“That’s Toby’s idea,” said Terence, “and Toby isn’t often wrong over a thing like this. He’s done a lot of arguing with the Head too... and none of us have really spoken to him at all in private. Toby’s probably right.”

“In that case,” said Pointon, “we shall require a deputation and we’d better decide now who it shall be.”

It was twenty-five minutes before Toby came back, and they saw at once that his countenance was grave.

“It’s no use at all,” said he. “The Head’s firm. He says that unless you have elected a new captain by six o’clock to-night, he will elect one for you, and it may not be one that you expect.”

“Did you ask him to receive a deputation, sir?” said Smythe.

Toby looked at him fixedly.

“No. It was clear that if I did he would refuse. So I decided that if there were going to be a deputation at all it had better be an impromptu one. And I think I’ll leave that to you.”

Looking at him, they understood: Toby was a master.