“Why, the first club got fifty members to start with. Then we chose a leader and talked things over. And then we chose a secretary and a lieutenant. And every member quietly brought in more chaps. And as soon as we felt we could afford it, we separated, making the next thirty or so into a second club, with the lieutenant for a leader. Then we chose a new lieutenant—and the new club chose a secretary and a lieutenant.”
Richard didn’t follow all this lieutenant and club business very well. He was thinking of himself entering in with these men in a dangerous, desperate cause. It seemed unreal. Yet there he was, with Jack’s arm round him. Jack would want him to be his “mate.” Could he? His cobber. Could he ever be mate to any man?
“You sort of have a lot of leaders. What if one of them let you down?” he asked.
“None of them have yet. But we’ve arranged for that.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell you later. But you get a bit of the hang of the thing, do you?”
“I think so. But what do you call yourselves? How do you appear to the public?”
“We call ourselves the diggers clubs, and we go in chiefly for athletics. And we do spend most of the time in athletics. But those that aren’t diggers can join, if a pal brings them in and vouches for them.”
Richard was now feeling rather out of it. Returned soldiers, and clubs, and athletics—all unnatural things to him. Was he going to join in with this? How could he? He was so different from it all.
“And how do you work—I mean together?” he faltered.