"my dear dick," wrote aunt bella, in a letter which dick received a fortnight later, "you were cheery enough, and far-sighted enough, to assure me, when the clouds were blackest and thickest, that the sun would burst through them all. your sturdy optimism heartened me immensely at the time, and saved me many hours of worry, which, as events have since proved, would have been sheer waste of nervous force.
"in short, my solicitor's brother, being as proud as he is rich, has taken to heart the blow to his family honour, and has insisted on refunding every penny of the money which his unfortunate relative embezzled. i say 'unfortunate' advisedly, because mental specialists have proved beyond doubt that my lawyer was insane during the period of his dishonest actions. he suffered from a form of legal kleptomania, all the stupider because he, too, had money of his own to play with, and had no need to toy with that of his trusting clients.
"in these circumstances i am not a penny out of pocket after all, and everything in the garden may be said to be lovely again. i had not, fortunately, had time to leave my beloved home, and my golf-clubs are in full swing again.
"i need scarcely say i read, with the utmost interest, the racy account you sent me of your recent adventures (naughty boy, not to have told me of your troubles before). particularly was i pleased with your graphic character-study of 'chuck' smithies, the bookmaker. his trade, as you remark, is a rotten one, but we cannot say the same of his big heart, which is as sound as a bell.
"purely because he did so much to keep your head above water, i have sent him, anonymously, a few boxes of cigars, which won't, i know, poison him, because my brother joe smokes the same brand (extravagant man!) and is still very much alive!
"but it is with even greater pleasure that i enclose herewith my donation to the rooke's house rag, the new issue of which i hope shortly to have the pleasure of laughing over.
"keep yourself fiddle-fit for the re-played final, dick, boy, so that this time your hefty foot may on no account miss the target.
"your chummy aunt,
"bella."
the donation, of course, was liberal, and it really seemed as though the sun-rays of prosperity were doing their utmost to dazzle dick's eyes of late.
the financial foundation of the rooke's house rag was now firm. its new issue, fresh in style and throbbing with life, infected the school with the light-heartedness of its editors, and did something more to restore the captain to the popularity which he had previously enjoyed. boys love the hero of an adventure. his star was in the ascendant again, and as it rose, the star of luke harwood sank. even the head seemed to be losing interest in luke, and "wykeham's pet fox" felt that the title no longer fitted him as he roamed about the school, his uneasiness ill-concealed beneath his habitual mask of composure.
for weeks he had succeeded in avoiding close contact with dick, there being a straight look of inquiry in the captain's eyes whenever their glances met, which the editor of the foxonian found disturbing. but he could not for ever succeed in giving dick a wide berth, and there came a time, shortly after a football practice, when the captain stood directly in his path, and no one else was about to whom he could hang on for safety.
making a virtue of necessity, therefore, he favoured dick with a slow, sweet smile.
"team seems in wonderful form just now—should make no mistake about the re-play," he commented.
"i'm not so sanguine as you appear to be, harwood. much depends on circumstances. we can't, for instance, afford such another nasty little accident as that which occurred in the last match."
"most unfortunate, as i said in the foxonian at the time," murmured luke. "still, who could have foreseen the freakish action of an idiot?"
"was it a freakish action, do you think? or did somebody quietly put him up to it?"
"preposterous, forge; most absurdly unlikely! no fox could have whispered anything so stupid and harmful into the village idiot's ear."
"no foxenby boy perhaps, but what was to prevent a grown-up fellow trying it on—ike doccan, for instance?"
the thrust was skilfully made, and its results exceeded dick's hopes. luke flushed to the eyes, only to lose his colour a moment later, looking pale indeed. he quickly regained his apparent serenity of manner, but dick had seen quite enough in that one frightened look to convince him that it was worth while going on.
"i always believe in taking the bull by the horns, harwood," he said, "and there's nobody to hear me if anything i say goes wide of the mark. in plain terms, then, why did doccan egg on fluffy jim to spoil my last-minute goal at walsbridge?"
"ike doccan blacks the boys' boots, and i am not accountable for his actions in or out of holbeck's house," answered luke. he was, to all appearances, his old calm self again.
"harwood, you're fencing. in a duel of words i know i stand no show. therefore, i make no bones about saying that i believe you and your select gang (inclusive of ike doccan) backed st. cuthbert's to beat us in the final tie."
"forge, that is a monstrous charge to make—have a care!"
"furthermore," went on dick, "i believe that ike doccan was acting directly to your orders when he hoisted fluffy jim over the ropes to spoil my goal."
"forge, i swear to you——"
"shut up a minute—i know what you want to say. you didn't move a hand-stir in the rotten affair—of course not! you were far too crafty a skunk for that, so, after making a convenient guy of the village idiot, you hired a minion to do the rest of your dirty work for you. deny it if you can!"
"it's all your imagination, forge."
so meek and mild was the tone of this reply that the prefect of holbeck's house might merely have been denying that he had been guilty of making a pun. already he was edging furtively away, wishing, no doubt, that there were acres of green fields between him and this hard-eyed captain of foxenby.
"in other words," said dick, "you call me a liar!"
"no, no, forge!"
"yes, yes, harwood! betting on a school match is bad enough—wagering against your own side is infinitely worse."
"you seem very certain of your facts!"
"i could prove them up to the hilt if necessary. but your shifty eyes are sufficient testimony for me. you can't look me straight in the face! you played your low-down game of bluff cunningly, harwood, hunting magazine subscriptions for me, 'soft-soaping' my rag, fooling me with your tongue in your cheek! and all the time (how clearly i see it now) you were scheming in secret to pull me down—to jockey me out of the captaincy and set yourself up in my place."
"you're a liar!" cried harwood, stung at last into open defiance by this keen home-thrust.
"thanks," said dick. "that's more sporting of you. look out for your eye now!"
out shot the captain's fist, and down to the grass went harwood, with the marks of dick's knuckles on his cheek.
"now, harwood, lift yourself up and let's have it out once and for all. don't stay sprawling there—that little tap can't have hurt you. what, aren't you going to fight? come along, man!"
"i'm having no more, thanks," harwood replied, in the tremulous voice of a craven. "fighting's no sort of fun for me. i'm out of condition—you're as hard as nails."
"well, of all the beastly funks—pooh, harwood, what a first-class rotter you are! i wish i hadn't gone for you—it's a waste of powder and shot. luckless holbeck's to have a worm like you as a prefect! get up and don't be scared. i wouldn't touch you again with a pole!"
saved by this contemptuous promise from further violence, luke rose groggily to his feet, making a great pretence of being badly shaken.
"drop swinging the lead, harwood, and listen to me a minute. the date of the re-played final has been fixed. the game will be at walsbridge as before. but you won't be there, harwood. neither will doccan, nor any other of your gambling clique. you'll find some excuse for not going, all of you—understand?"
"but how can i promise for anybody save myself, forge?"
"you arranged matters to your liking before—it will be just as easy to do it again. for the good of the school, you and your gang have got to be missing. we shall breathe cleaner air in your absence."
"but——" began harwood, desperately.
"promise, or take a hiding, whichever you prefer."
"no need to make a scene, forge; i'll manage it somehow."
dick laughed scornfully. "i thought you would. go now, and be quick about it. i'd rather not be seen within half a mile of you!"
