They were silent for a few moments. Lieutenant Wilde could see that the boy had something on his mind. He moved restlessly on his stool, while he leaned his elbows on the desk in front of him, and fitted the knuckles of his left hand against the knuckles of his right, with a frowning precision. When he looked up, it was to meet his teacher’s steady, inquiring gaze, and his face suddenly brightened, showing one little dimple in his smooth, round chin.
“Well, Stanley?” said Lieutenant Wilde; laughing.
“Well?”
“You’ve something in your head; out with it!”
“How do you know?” asked Stanley rather abruptly, surprised at being found out.
“How did I know? Why, everything about you tells it, except your tongue, so that may as well speak,” answered Lieutenant Wilde, smiling as he watched the boy’s face.
“I believe you do know everything, Lieutenant Wilde,” said Stanley. “You’ve told me so much, you’d better finish, and say what it’s about?”
“Is it about Max?”
Stanley nodded.
“There’s nothing wrong with him, I hope.”