“Well, I shall tell him; and I’m sure he’ll ask you not.  You know how he tries to stick up for Rose.”

“If you say a word more,” said Brigson, unaccustomed to being opposed among his knot of courtiers, “I’ll kick you out of the room; you and that wretched little fool there with you.”

“You may do as you like,” answered Wright, quietly, “but you won’t go on like this long, I can tell you.”

Brigson tried to seize him, but failing, contented himself with flinging a big coal at him as he ran out of the room, which narrowly missed his head.

“I have it!” said Brigson; “that little donkey’s given me an idea.  We’ll crust Rose to-night.”

“To crust,” gentle reader, means to pelt an obnoxious person with crusts.

“Capital!” said some of the worst boys present; “we will.”

“Well, who’ll take part?”

No one offered.  “What! are we all turning sneaks and cowards?  Here, Wildney, won’t you? you were abusing Rose just now.”

“Yes, I will,” said Wildney, but with no great alacrity.  “You’ll not have done till you’ve got us all expelled, I believe.”

“Fiddle-stick end! and what if we are? besides, he can’t expel half the school.”

First two or three more offered, and then a whole lot, gaining courage by numbers.  So the plot was regularly laid.  Pietrie and Graham were to put out the lights at each end of one table immediately after tea, and Wildney and Brooking at the other, when the study fellows had gone out.  There would then be only Mr. Rose’s candle burning, and the two middle candles, which, in so large a room, would just give enough light for their purpose.  Then all the conspirators were to throng around the door, and from it aim their crusts at Mr. Rose’s head, Not nearly so many would have volunteered to join, but that they fancied Mr. Rose was too gentle to take up the matter with vigor, and they were encouraged by his quiet leniency towards Eric the night before.  It was agreed that no study-boy should be told of the intention, lest any of them should interfere.

Many hearts beat fast at tea that night as they observed that numbers of boys, instead of eating all their bread, were cutting off the crusts, and breaking them into good-sized bits.

Tea finished, Mr. Rose said grace, and then sat down quietly reading in his desk.  The signal agreed on was the (accidental) dropping of a plate by Brigson.  The study-boys left the room.

Crash!—­down fell a plate on the floor, breaking to pieces in the fall.

Instantly the four candles went out, and there was a hurried movement towards the door, and a murmur of voices.

“Now then,” said Brigson, in a loud whisper, “what a funky set you are!  Here goes?”

The master, surprised at the sudden gloom and confusion, had just looked up, unable to conjecture what was the matter.  Brigson’s crust caught him a sharp rap on the forehead as he moved.