the best team we can; and I think we
shall have it.

"Yours truly,--

"Cecil Yorke."

"There's the answer. Take it over at once."

"I like his style," growled Percy to himself. "He don't seem to have a
`please' about him. Catch me hurrying myself for him; I've got this
precious canvasser to look after."

And he returned at a leisurely pace to the rendezvous.

No Fisher minor was there!

That young gentleman, when left to himself, found himself in a
perspiration of doubt and fear. He had made a most awkward blunder, and
confessed the delinquencies of his comrades to the very last man they
would wish to know of them. That was bad enough; but, to make things
worse, he was to be let in for the blame of the whole affair, and, with
Master Percy's assistance, was shortly to experience warm weather among
the Moderns.

Happy thought! He would not stay where he was. He would retire, as the
Latin book said, into winter quarters, and entrench himself in the
stronghold of Wally and D'Arcy and Ashby. If he _was_ to get it hot, he
would sooner get it from them than from the barbarians in Forder's.

With which desperate conclusion, and once more devoutly wishing himself
safe at home, he made tracks, at a rapid walk, to Wally's room. His
three comrades were all there.

"What's up?" said they as he entered, with agitated face.

"Oh, I say, it's all because you and your brother are so alike. I met
him just now; and--he's heard about that canvassing, you know, and I
thought you'd like to know."

"You mean to say you blabbed?" said Wally, jumping to his feet.

"It's your fault," said D'Arcy. "I've made the same mistake myself.
Why can't you grow a moustache or something to distinguish you?"

"Why can't you get your brother to be a Classic! then it wouldn't
matter--either of you would do," suggested Ashby.

Ashby was beginning to feel quite at home in Wakefield's.

"I'll let some of you see if it won't matter," retorted Wally. "If
they've got wind of that affair the other side, there'll be a fearful
row. They'll want another election. Oh, you young idiot! That comes
of trusting a new kid, that sings comic songs, and parts his hair the
wrong side, with a secret. D'Arcy's nearly as big an ass as you are
yourself, to trust you."

After this Philippic, Wally felt a little better, and was ready to
consider what had better be done.

"He's bound to come here, you chaps," said he. "You cut. Leave him to
me--