"There you are," said D'Arcy. "What did I tell you! They belong to Wally; he'll be here directly. You'll be all right--all except _you_," said he, singling out his principal assailant. "You don't know how to behave, like these other kids. I shall advise Wally not to waste any of his stuff on you." "I didn't know it was a feast," said the youth, much softened. "I thought you were only humbugging; really I did." "I've a good mind to do what you think. You'd better mind your eye, I can tell you--I wish Wally would come. There's five o'clock striking-- I'll go and look for him. Ashby, you see if he's in the library; you kids, stay here, and lock the door, and don't let anybody in but Wally. Do you hear? If you do, you'll get it pretty hot for being out of your house. And look here, if Wally doesn't come by half-past, you can help yourselves." "Thanks awfully," said the party. "Mind! honour bright you don't touch a thing till the clock strikes the half. When you've done, stay here till one of us comes to fetch you, and we'll see you safe out. Don't go without, as our chaps are awfully down on Moderns this term, and you'll get flayed alive. If they've seen you come in, they'll try to get at you, be sure; so lock yourselves in, whatever you do, and don't make the room in too great a mess. Come along, Ashby; let's look for Wally." "Cut hard," said he, as soon as they stood outside, and had heard the lock within duly turned. "We've only just time to get over; that's five votes lost to their side! Real good business! I wonder where the other new kid is? He was bound to make a mess of it. That's why I sent him to the gymnasium; it's closed to-day." "Hooray for the Cock-House!" shouted Ashby, as, side by side with his now admiring patron, he entered the School Hall, where the ceremony of club elections was just beginning. At the door they encountered Wheatfield. "Such games!" whispered D'Arcy, clapping him joyously on the back. "We've got five Modern kids boxed up in our room, waiting for the clock to strike the half-hour before they have a tuck in at our empty jam- pots." "Ha, ha!" said Wheatfield; "splendid joke!" and vanished. D'Arcy's countenance suddenly turned pale as he gripped his companion by the arm. "What's the matter?" inquired Ashby, alarmed for his friend's health. "What's up?" "It's all up! We're regularly done. My, that _is_ a go!" "Whatever do you mean?" "Why, you blockhead, didn't you see that was the wrong Wheatfield--not Wally, but the Modern one! And now he's gone to let those chaps out, and we're clean done for!" "Whew! what is to be done?" groaned Ashby, almost as pale as his friend. CHAPTER FOUR. A CLOSE ELECTION.