CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
THE HERMIT COMES OUT OF HIS CELL.
Mansfield never flattered himself that Templeton would right itself by a single turn of his hand, nor did he flatter himself that Templeton would ever love Jupiter as they had loved the old Saturn who had preceded him.
And in neither expectation was he out of his reckoning.
After a week or two the sole result of the new _regime_ seemed to be that the bad lot had plunged further into their evil ways.

The "Select Sociables" had increased the number of their members to thirty, and made it an indispensable qualification for every candidate that he should have suffered punishment at the hands of the masters or monitors.

It got to be known that it was war to the knife, and fellows flocked to the post of danger and begged to be admitted to the club.
All this Mansfield saw, but it did not disconcert him.

He was glad to see a clear line being drawn, which made it impossible for any but the practised hypocrites to hang out false colours and pretend to be what they were not.

It was half the battle to the Captain to know exactly who were friends and who were enemies.
He may sometimes have thought, with a passing sigh, of the affection which everybody, good and bad, had had for dear old Ponty, and wished he could expect as much.