"What's this rot about a paper?" demanded one of the fellows.
"Pay your penny, comrade," urged Patch blandly, "and see for yourself! I thank you."
Once started, the demand for papers was extensive, especially as the purchasers evinced great interest in the contents of the Busy Bee. Within a few minutes the stack on the table had diminished by half. In all parts of the House fellows were studying the papers with amused expressions.
All at once there was a sound as of an enraged dinosaurus, and Cummles strode angrily along the corridor.
"Where's Patch?" he yelled.
"Here, comrade! What do you require? Have you a spare penny? Then I would suggest—"
"Suggest be jiggered! This is what I've come about." He lugged a copy of the Busy Bee out of his pocket, and held it about two inches from Patch's nose. "See that—that!"
He pointed with his finger. "That" was a reproduced photograph, covering half a page of the paper; and it depicted that humiliating scene on the night—now a week back—when the Cripples had been photographed in the old Science room.
The thing was horrible in its deadly distinctness. Against a dark background the white, piteous faces of the Cripples, distorted with sneezings, dipping into handkerchiefs, in every phase of distress, showed as plainly as a lantern-picture.
Patch looked at it and laughed with immense heartiness.