Fantasy Football Challenge - Football Fanatics Library

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Fantasy Football Challenge presents
The Triple Alliance

37 of 65

Ronleigh College. This brilliant feat, coupled with the gallant manner in which he had continued his innings when hurt, and so enabled Oaks to run up the score, caused the black sheep of the Sixth Form to be regarded as the hero of the day. Allingford shook him by the hand, and a noisy crowd hoisted him shoulder high and carried him three times round the quadrangle. Thurston certainly had good reason to feel proud of the part he had played in the chief match of the season, and might in years to come have always looked back with pleasure on this twenty-fourth of July. Unfortunately another event of a sadly different character was destined to make it a red-letter day in his career at Ronleigh. The feeling of respect and good-will which his prowess in the field had awakened in the minds of his former friends afforded him a splendid opportunity for reassociating himself with all that was worthy and honourable in school life. The chance no sooner presented itself, however, than it was flung away, and was lost for ever. Evening preparation was over, and supper, an informal meal, attendance at which was not compulsory, was in progress. The door of Thurston's study was once more locked on the inside, as it had been when Diggory went to return the match-box to its rightful owner. Fletcher senior, Hawley, and Gull sat on three sides of the small table, while Thurston himself occupied the fourth. "Hang it all!" exclaimed the latter, throwing down a handful of playing cards upon the table, and pushing back his chair. "I shan't play any more to-night; I've got no more tin." "Oh, go on; I'll lend you some," answered Fletcher. "I don't care whether I win or lose; it's only the game I play for." As a matter of fact, Fletcher nearly always _did_ win, and was mightily displeased on the rare occasions when he lost. "No; I've borrowed enough already," returned the other. "I shan't be able to square up as it is till next term. It's all very well for fellows like you three, who have rich people, and can write home any time for a fiver; but I'm not so flush of cash.--Look here, Gull, have you got that banjo? Sing us a song." "All right," answered Gull, reaching down and picking a small five-stringed instrument off the floor; "what'll you have?" "Oh, something with a good swing to it. I feel like kicking up a row." Gull tuned up, struck a few chords, and then launched out into a rattling nigger song with an amount of "go" and clatter sufficient to inspire the hearer with an almost irresistible desire to get up and dance. The three listeners shouted the chorus at the top of their voices, pounding the table with their fists by way of a sort of drum accompaniment. Gull was just preparing to commence the fourth verse when there was a knock at the study door. "Wait a jiff," said Thurston.--"Who's there? What d'you want?" "Why," came the answer, uttered in rather a drawling tone, "I wish you fellows wouldn't make so much row. I can't possibly work. Do be quiet." "Oh, go to Bath!" shouted Thurston.--"It's only that old stew-pot Browse," he added. "The beggar's got the next study, and he's cramming up for some 'exam.'--Go on, Gull." The entertainment continued, and waxed more noisy than ever, the performers hammering the table with a ruler and two walking-sticks to add zest to the choruses. Soon there came another interruption, very different in tone from the mild expostulation of the studious Browse. The door was violently shaken, and from without came the sharp, peremptory order of the school captain,-- "Look here, Thurston, just shut up; we've had enough of this horrible row for one night. Stop it, d'you hear?" "All right," growled the owner of the study; "keep your hair on, old fellow!" "Sh! steady on, Thirsty," said Fletcher, in a low tone. "Don't go too far, or he'll put a stop to our next merry meeting. I know Allingford, and he's rather a hard wall to run your head against." "That confounded old Browse has gone and sneaked!" cried the other, with a flush of passion on his face. "Let's wait till Ally's gone, and then make a raid on the old stew-pot." Hawley and Gull sprang to their feet with a murmur of assent; Fletcher shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. "What we'll do is this," continued Thurston. "He sits with his back to the door. I'll pop in first and throw this tablecloth over his head; then, while I hold him down, you chaps upset the things and put out the light. Then we'll rush out all together, and he won't know for certain who did it." Five minutes later the conspirators crept out into the passage, and tip-toed towards the door of the adjoining study. Fletcher lingered behind, and, instead of following the expedition, stole softly away in the opposite direction. Another moment, and the unfortunate Browse was struggling to rise from his chair, with his head enveloped in the tablecloth. Hawley and Gull, following immediately in rear of their leader, sent the table, with its load of books and writing materials, over with a crash, threw the chairs into different corners of the room, and were about to scatter the contents of the bookcase over the floor, when Allingford suddenly burst into the room, and stood glaring round like an angry lion. With one swing of his right arm he sent Thurston staggering against the wall, and then, stepping forward without an instant's hesitation, he dealt each of the other marauders a swinging box on the ear. The two Fifth Form boys were big, strong fellows, and for a moment it seemed as though a stand-up fight would ensue. The captain, however, followed up his attack with amazing promptness, and before his antagonists had time to think of resistance he had taken them both by the shoulders and sent them flying into the passage. "There!" he exclaimed. "I'll teach you gentlemen to come playing pranks on Sixth Form studies. What business have you got here, I should like to know?--As for you," continued the speaker, casting a scornful glance at the originator of the outrage, "I should have thought a fellow who's a prefect ought to know better than to go rioting with every scamp in the school." Thurston's conduct on the cricket field had clearly proved him to be no coward. He stood his ground, and returned Allingford's angry glances

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