The borough of Wrykyn had been a little unfortunate--or fortunate,according to the point of view--in the matter of elections. The latterpoint of view was that of the younger and more irresponsible section ofthe community, which liked elections because they were exciting. Theformer was that of the tradespeople, who disliked them because they gottheir windows broken.

　　Wrykyn had passed through an election and its attendant festivities inthe previous year, when Sir Eustace Briggs, the mayor of the town, hadbeen returned by a comfortable majority. Since then ill-health hadcaused that gentleman to resign his seat, and the place was once morein a state of unrest. This time the school was deeply interested in thematter. The previous election had not stirred them. They did not carewhether Sir Eustace Briggs defeated Mr Saul Pedder, or whether Mr SaulPedder wiped the political floor with Sir Eustace Briggs. Mr Pedder wasan energetic Radical; but owing to the fact that Wrykyn had alwaysreturned a Conservative member, and did not see its way to a change asyet, his energy had done him very little good. The school had looked onhim as a sportsman, and read his speeches in the local paper withamusement; but they were not interested. Now, however, things werechanged. The Conservative candidate, Sir William Bruce, was one ofthemselves--an Old Wrykinian, a governor of the school, a man whoalways watched school-matches, and the donor of the Bruce Challenge Cupfor the school mile. In fine, one of the best. He was also the fatherof Jack Bruce, a day-boy on the engineering side. The school would haveliked to have made a popular hero of Jack Bruce. If he had liked, hecould have gone about with quite a suite of retainers. But he was aquiet, self-sufficing youth, and was rarely to be seen in public. Theengineering side of a public school has workshops and other weirdnesseswhich keep it occupied after the ordinary school hours. It wasgenerally understood that Bruce was a good sort of chap if you knewhim, but you had got to know him first; brilliant at his work, anddevoted to it; a useful slow bowler; known to be able to drive andrepair the family motor-car; one who seldom spoke unless spoken to, butwho, when he did speak, generally had something sensible to say. Beyondthat, report said little.

　　As he refused to allow the school to work off its enthusiasm on him,they were obliged to work it off elsewhere. Hence the disturbanceswhich had become frequent between school and town. The inflammatoryspeeches of Mr Saul Pedder had caused a swashbuckling spirit to spreadamong the rowdy element of the town. Gangs of youths, to adopt thepolice-court term, had developed a habit of parading the streetsarm-in-arm, shouting "Good old Pedder!" When these met some person orpersons who did not consider Mr Pedder good and old, there wasgenerally what the local police-force described as a "frakkus".

　　It was in one of these frakkuses that Linton had lost a valuable tooth.

　　Two days had elapsed since Dunstable and Linton had looked in on Sheenfor tea. It was a Saturday afternoon, and roll-call was just over.

　　There was no first fifteen match, only a rather uninterestinghouse-match, Templar's _versus_ Donaldson's, and existence in theschool grounds showed signs of becoming tame.

　　"What a beastly term the Easter term is," said Linton, yawning. "Therewon't be a thing to do till the house-matches begin properly."Seymour's had won their first match, as had Day's. They would not becalled upon to perform for another week or more.

　　"Let's get a boat out," suggested Dunstable.

　　"Such a beastly day.""Let's have tea at the shop.""Rather slow. How about going to Cook's?""All right. Toss you who pays."Cook's was a shop in the town to which the school most resorted when inneed of refreshment.

　　"Wonder if we shall meet Albert."Linton licked the place where his tooth should have been, and said hehoped so.

　　Sergeant Cook, the six-foot proprietor of the shop, was examining abroken window when they arrived, and muttering to himself.

　　"Hullo!" said Dunstable, "what's this? New idea for ventilation? Golly,massa, who frew dat brick?""Done it at ar-parse six last night, he did," said Sergeant Cook, "thered-'eaded young scallywag. Ketch 'im--I'll give 'im--""Sounds like dear old Albert," said Linton. "Who did it, sergeant?""Red-headed young mongrel. 'Good old Pedder,' he says. 'I'll give youPedder,' I says. Then bang it comes right on top of the muffins, andwhen I doubled out after 'im 'e'd gone."Mrs Cook appeared and corroborated witness's evidence. Dunstableordered tea.

　　"We may meet him on our way home," said Linton. "If we do, I'll givehim something from you with your love. I owe him a lot for myself."Mrs Cook clicked her tongue compassionately at the sight of the obviousvoid in the speaker's mouth.

　　"You'll 'ave to 'ave a forlse one, Mr Linton," said Sergeant Cook withgloomy relish.

　　The back shop was empty. Dunstable and Linton sat down and began tea.

　　Sergeant Cook came to the door from time to time and dilated further onhis grievances.

　　"Gentlemen from the school they come in 'ere and says ain't it all ajoke and exciting and what not. But I says to them, you 'aven't got tolive in it, I says. That's what it is. You 'aven't got to live in it, Isays. Glad when it's all over, that's what I'll be.""'Nother jug of hot water, please," said Linton.

　　The Sergeant shouted the order over his shoulder, as if he wereaddressing a half-company on parade, and returned to his woes.

　　"You 'aven't got to live in it, I says. That's what it is. It's thiseverlasting worry and flurry day in and day out, and not knowing what'sgoing to 'appen next, and one man coming in and saying 'Vote forBruce', and another 'Vote for Pedder', and another saying how it's thepoor man's loaf he's fighting for--if he'd only _buy_ a loaf,now--'ullo, 'ullo, wot's this?"There was a "confused noise without", as Shakespeare would put it, andinto the shop came clattering Barry and McTodd, of Seymour's, closelyfollowed by Stanning and Attell.

　　"This is getting a bit too thick," said Barry, collapsing into a chair.

　　From the outer shop came the voice of Sergeant Cook.

　　"Let me jest come to you, you red-'eaded--"Roars of derision from the road.

　　"That's Albert," said Linton, jumping up.

　　"Yes, I heard them call him that," said Barry. "McTodd and I werecoming down here to tea, when they started going for us, so we nippedin here, hoping to find reinforcements.""We were just behind you," said Stanning. "I got one of them a beauty.

　　He went down like a shot.""Albert?" inquired Linton.

　　"No. A little chap.""Let's go out, and smash them up," suggested Linton excitedly.

　　Dunstable treated the situation more coolly.

　　"Wait a bit," he said. "No hurry. Let's finish tea at any rate. You'dbetter eat as much as you can now Linton. You may have no teeth left todo it with afterwards," he added cheerfully.

　　"Let's chuck things at them," said McTodd.

　　"Don't be an ass," said Barry. "What on earth's the good of that?""Well, it would be something," said McTodd vaguely.

　　"Hit 'em with a muffin," suggested Stanning. "Dash, I barked myknuckles on that man. But I bet he felt it.""Look here, I'm going out," said Linton. "Come on, Dunstable."Dunstable continued his meal without hurry.

　　"What's the excitement?" he said. "There's plenty of time. Dear oldAlbert's not the sort of chap to go away when he's got us corneredhere. The first principle of warfare is to get a good feed before youstart.""And anyhow," said Barry, "I came here for tea, and I'm going to haveit."Sergeant Cook was recalled from the door, and received the orders.

　　"They've just gone round the corner," he said, "and that red-'eaded one'e says he's goin' to wait if he 'as to wait all night.""Quite right," said Dunstable, approvingly. "Sensible chap, Albert. Ifyou see him, you might tell him we shan't be long, will you?"A quarter of an hour passed.

　　"Kerm out," shouted a voice from the street.

　　Dunstable looked at the others.

　　"Perhaps we might be moving now," he said, getting up "Ready?""We must keep together," said Barry.

　　"You goin' out, Mr Dunstable?" inquired Sergeant Cook.

　　"Yes. Good bye. You'll see that we're decently buried won't you?"The garrison made its sortie.

　　* * * * *It happened that Drummond and Sheen were also among those whom it hadstruck that afternoon that tea at Cook's would be pleasant; and theycame upon the combatants some five minutes after battle had beenjoined. The town contingent were filling the air with strange cries,Albert's voice being easily heard above the din, while the Wrykinians,as public-school men should, were fighting quietly and without unseemlytumult.

　　"By Jove," said Drummond, "here's a row on."Sheen stopped dead, with a queer, sinking feeling within him. Hegulped. Drummond did not notice these portents. He was observing thebattle.

　　Suddenly he uttered an exclamation.

　　"Why, it's some of our chaps! There's a Seymour's cap. Isn't thatMcTodd? And, great Scott! there's Barry. Come on, man!"Sheen did not move.

　　"Ought we...to get...mixed up...?" he began.

　　Drummond looked at him with open eyes. Sheen babbled on.

　　"The old man might not like--sixth form, you see--oughtn't we to--?"There was a yell of triumph from the town army as the red-hairedAlbert, plunging through the fray, sent Barry staggering against thewall. Sheen caught a glimpse of Albert's grinning face as he turned. Hehad a cut over one eye. It bled.

　　"Come on," said Drummond, beginning to run to the scene of action.

　　Sheen paused for a moment irresolutely. Then he walked rapidly in theopposite direction.