clubs, the row with the head-master, and
finally, the defeat of Brinkman by his own victim, might be held to be
enough to chasten their spirits, and induce them to ask themselves
whether the game was worth the candle.

But, such is the infatuation of wrong-headedness, they still breathed
vengeance on some one; and this time their victim was to be Rollitt.

The grudge against him had been steadily accumulating during the term.
His outrage on the gentle Dangle was yet to be atoned for. His crime of
playing in the fifteen was yet unappeased. His contempt of the whole
crew of his enemies was not to be pardoned. Even his rescue of the lost
juniors told against him, for it had helped to turn the public feeling
of the School in favour of those recalcitrant young rebels. So far
there had been no getting at him. He would not quarrel. He would not
even recognise the existence of any one he did not care for.

But now a chance had come. The more they discussed it, the more morally
certain was it that he was answerable for the disappearance of the money
from the Club funds. The very reluctance of his own house to take
action in the matter showed that they at least appreciated the gravity
of the suspicion.

It was a trump card for the Moderns. By pushing it now, they would be
doing a service to the School. They would pose as the champions of
honesty. They would be mortifying the Classics, even while they
pretended to assist them; and, above all, they would wipe out scores
with Rollitt himself, in a way he could not well disregard.

Clapperton and Dangle were not superlatively clever boys; but, whether
by chance or design, they certainly hit upon an admirable method for
bringing the matter to a crisis.

Dangle took upon himself to confide his suspicions, as a dead and
terrible secret, to Wilcox, a middle-boy of Forder's house, and
notorious as the most prolific gossip in Fellsgarth; who, moreover, was
known to have several talking acquaintances in the other houses.

Wilcox received Dangle's communication with astonishment and--oh, of
course, he wouldn't breathe a word of it to any one, not for the world;
it was a bad business, but it was Fisher major's business to see it put
right, and so on.

That night as Wilcox and his friend Underwood were retiring to rest, the
former confided to the latter, under the deadliest pledge of secrecy,
that there was a scandal going on about the School accounts. He
mightn't say more