at what had happened than
Plunger. It was in this way. Mellor and Crick, the two boys who had
gained possession of the Garside flag, had found a good deal of
amusement at first in making surreptitious visits to the barn, and
dancing round their capture, but they soon began to long for something
more exciting. Truth to tell, the capture had not made the sensation in
the ranks of the enemy they had anticipated--so at least it seemed to
them. They had expected early reprisals, but none had come. So, after
they had performed a war-dance round the flag with their companions five
or six times, Mellor yearned for something more exciting. So did Crick.
So did the others.

"The Gargoyles don't seem to worry much about the flag after all," said
Mellor, thoughtfully wiping his brow, after the last of these spirited
exercises round the Garside standard.

"Not a bit. Seems to me they're only too glad to get rid of the wretched
thing," remarked Finch, one of the boys who had been envious of the
daring capture.

"Are they? That's all you know, Finch," retorted Mellor, angry that his
remark should be taken so literally. "If we could only see them, we
should find them tearing their hair and gnashing their teeth."

"Then why don't they come after their property and try to get it back
again?"

"Because they don't know for certain who's got it. They're lying low."

"Well, we'd better do the same. I can't see much fun in hopping round
the wretched rag. Why the Gargoyles should make so much of it I can't
make out."

"That's because you've never been at Garside. I dare say if we'd been
left a flag like that by an old school-fellow who had made a name for
himself, we should have been as proud of it as they are. It was worth
getting just to set those bounders back a bit. I should like to see you
do what Crick did, Finch!"

There were murmurs of approval at this, and Finch subsided into silence.
Nevertheless, when Mellor began to reflect, there seemed to be a good
deal of force in Finch's observation. There wasn't much fun, after all,
in hopping round "the wretched rag." So he thought of a way to improve
matters. Once or twice the idea had occurred to him of establishing a
society calling itself the "Mystic Order of Beetles," and using it for
the benefit of the rivals who had bestowed upon them so contemptuous a
title.

Directly he mentioned it to his companions it was hailed with
enthusiasm.

What could be better than making some