“Yes. Rampick.”
“What was he doing there?”
“What is he always doing there?”
“Yes. But to give out that screech at the sight of us!”
“It shows, anyhow, that he’s more frightened of us than we are of him.”
I was agitated, nevertheless, and more eager than ever to unburden myself to Mr. Sant. This giving of himself away was hardly to be reconciled with the drunkard’s stealthy effacement of his traces up on the hill yonder. I wanted the thing all over and taken out of our hands.
We found the road to the schools, now we came to retrace it, all dotted and lively with wandering sparks of lanterns. There was to be a good attendance, it was evident. The holiday spirit was in the air, and these lectures, after all, were the best of holiday tasks. And, indeed, when we entered the building we perceived it so crowded as, in the brilliancy of its illumination, to preclude any chance of that first fun of obscured revelations; for the drawings on the sheet were plain as truth, or anyhow as plain as good intentions. We were forced to satisfy ourselves with back places near the door. However, the room was not so large but that we could distinguish every one of the freehand objects depicted in charcoal on the screen, which, with a “Seraphine”—a late invented reed instrument blown with the feet, and the joy of Mr. Sant’s heart—was the whole of the lecturer’s paraphernalia.
“What’s that first thing?” whispered Harry, giggling.
“Hush!” I said. “I don’t know. It looks like an oyster.”
The lights, and the company, and the prospect of our tutor’s near restoration to us, were beginning to recover me, and already I was tickled with the thought of some fun ahead. And then, in a moment, there he was, the whimsical strong soul; and I breathed a great sigh of relief, and joined tumultuously in the welcome which greeted him.