Mum's the word." Dick spent a troubled week.

He was uncomfortable with Heathcote, in whom he was bursting to confide.

He was uneasy, too, in meeting the few members of the "Sociables" whom he knew, and felt that they were watching him critically, with a view to the election next Thursday.

And he was vindictive in the presence of Culver, whose possible rivalry he regarded as little short of an insult.
Indeed, the effect of the suspense on him was bad all round.

For having somehow picked up the notion from Braider's hints that "spirit" was a leading qualification for aspiring members of the club, he was very nearly increasing that qualification notoriously, before the week was out, by another row with headquarters.
He purposely shirked his work, and behaved disorderly in class, in order to show his patrons what he was made of; and what was worse, he egged the unsuspecting Georgie on to similar excesses by his example.
Georgie, as far as "spirit" went, stood better qualified for membership of the club at the week's end than did the real candidate; for while the latter escaped punishment, the former was dropped upon to the tune of three hundred lines of Virgil, for throwing a book across the room during class.
"Just my luck," said he defiantly to his leader afterwards.
"Everybody's down on me.