to the March Hare's tale have added coal to the fire
you might have quenched in a moment. And--and--and--and--" poor Jack was
shaking and stammering with excitement, "what--what if it had--ended
in--"

But there he sat down, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Cadbury was the first to reply, and that was not at once. Slowly he
ruled a long, thick, black line in his exercise-book, then, pushing his
chair away from the table, tilted it back, and spoke:

"Well, I don't know what anyone else thinks, but I'll tell you what I
do. Brady's last sentence was certainly not fluent, and I shouldn't
care to have to analyse it. As for the jokes in it, they were about as
plentiful as wasps in January. All that's true enough. Still,
nevertheless, speaking for my humble self, he thrust home. You did,
Jack, you beggar! You'd no business to, but you actually had the
impudence to make me feel ashamed of myself. And, of course, I don't
know what you others will say, but I vote we bury the hatchet in old
Thompson's biggest flower-pot. Who's with me?"

"I am!"

"I am!"

"And I!"

"Of course it's quite right to forgive," drawled Green, with a curl of
the lip. "I'm more than willing."

Jack ground his teeth, but Hallett saved him the trouble of replying.

"No, no; if we do the thing at all, we'll do it properly. Don't let's
have any half-measures--kindly-forgivings, and all the rest of it! If
anyone starts forgiving me, I'll lick him! We won't forgive anyone, not
even ourselves. We'll go straight ahead on a new tack, and forget
everything that's happened. If our friends the enemy look askance at us
at first (and we needn't be surprised if they do), that mustn't affect
us. Remember this: Scores are Settled. That's our motto; there is to be
no more paying off. Chaff them if you like--I fancy they'd think there
was something fishy if we didn't--but no tricks, if you please."

"What if they start them on us, Hallett?" enquired Grey, in the tone of
one who merely seeks information. Hallett frowned slightly.

"Hadn't thought of that. Of course if they insist on picking a quarrel
in that way--"

"But I'm nearly sure they won't," cried Jack.

"I caught Lucy pasting the leaves of my _Delectus_ together," murmured
Grey, looking at the ceiling.

"And how many things have you done to them?" retorted Jack desperately,
sighing as he felt the weakness of that argument.

"Vick, will you hand Grey your india-rubber?" put in Cadbury. "There's a