Stallard. Thanks a lot.'
Merrys then ran round to the forbidden territory, found the coast clear, collared the bicycle, hid it in the bushes and rejoined his comrade. Both were studious during Prep, both ate large suppers of bread and margarine, both responded to Call-Over in the hearty, trumpet-voice of virtue, and both (having sworn the two boys in their dormitory to secrecy) descended on to the roof of Mr Loveday's outhouse, crept past a chimney-stack, slithered down a drainpipe, and so gained the kitchen garden unheard, unseen, and unthought-of, at exactly ten minutes past nine.
Mr Loveday kept no watchdog. Their progress was neither stayed nor interrupted. Merrys dragged the bicycle from the bushes and wheeled it up a concrete path and then across Mr Loveday's lawn. Soon Skene had mounted to the step, Merrys was in the saddle, and the boys were on the main drive and zigzagging towards Mr Kay's cottage and the School gates.
The new dog-racing track was distant some seven miles from the School. With optimism which proved to be misplaced, Merrys had allowed half an hour each way for the journey. Winter Call-Over was at nine, and boys of the age of the heroes were expected to put lights out at half-past. Talking was then allowed until a quarter to ten, and silence was anticipated from that hour until half-past six on the following morning. Housemasters made their own rules, and these were the rules of Mr Loveday.
It was therefore a little after nine-fifteen when Skene and Merrys reached the road beyond the School, and half-past chimed from a church tower when, the School two miles or so behind them, and the bicycle careering merrily down a steep hill, the lads left care in the background and began to enjoy the escapade.
'I say, this is wizard!' observed Merrys. Comfortably seated – for Mr Loveday was not a tall gentleman and Merrys was a long-legged youth – he was allowing the bicycle, still zigzagging a little, to cut out a good pace along the moorland road.
'Smashing!' agreed Skene, although he was still not so wholeheartedly enthusiastic as his friend. In addition, his position on the vehicle was not particularly comfortable, as anyone who has ridden on the step of a bicycle will know. In fact, it was not so very long before he suggested that it might be a good idea for the two of them to change places.
Almost as soon as the exchange was made, he thought better of it, for the flattish half-mile of lonely countryside which had succeeded the downhill glide gave place to a long hill up which the bicycle ground its way to the agony of both its passengers.
The dog-racing track came in sight at last, however, and the boys, secreting their – or rather Mr Loveday's – machine in an alley, walked up to the gates and sought admission. They were daunted by the discovery that it was necessary to pay half a crown each before they could pass the turnstiles. Merrys looked at Skene, and Skene said, with gloomy doggedness, that he was hanged if he was going to fork out half a crown for the doubtful pleasure of watching a couple of races, which was all they could possibly find time for. Merrys was inclined to agree. The man on the gate took no notice of them, except to suggest that they had better make up their minds, or the crowd would be out, anyway, before they got inside.
'Why, what time is it over?' asked Merrys.
'Last race about half-past ten,' replied Aeacus. The boys looked at one another again. Then Merrys turned away, and, followed by the faithful but greatly-relieved Skene, took up the bicycle and pushed it disgustedly into the main road to make for home. Suddenly he changed his mind.
'I say, we needn't go back yet ,' he suggested.
'Better not, perhaps,' agreed Skene. 'The beaks won't be in bed yet, and we don't want to get nabbed by somebody walking across the quad.'
'Besides, we've got to put Albert-Edward's bike to bed,' said Merrys, 'and it won't do to sneak round there if there's any chance of anybody