“What—how—you don’t mean this happening to me? It is not your doing, August—what fancy is this?”
“Oh, yes, it is,” said Tom, his voice cut short by gasps, the remains of the sobs. “They would not hear me! I tried to tell them how you told them not, and sent them home. I tried to tell about Ballhatchet—but—but they wouldn’t—they said if it had been Harry, they would have attended—but they would not believe me. Oh! if Harry was but here!”
“I wish he was,” said Norman, from the bottom of his heart; “but you see, Tom, if this sets you on always telling truth, I shan’t think any great harm done.”
A fresh burst, “Oh, they are all so glad! They say such things! And the Mays were never in disgrace before. Oh, Norman, Norman!”
“Never mind about that—” began Norman.
“But you would mind,” broke in the boy passionately, “if you knew what Anderson junior and Axworthy say! They say it serves you right, and they were going to send me to old Ballhatchet’s to get some of his stuff to drink confusion to the mouth of June, and all pragmatical meddlers; and when I said I could not go, they vowed if I did not, I should eat the corks for them! And Anderson junior called me names, and licked me. Look there.” He showed a dark blue-and-red stripe raised on the palm of his hand. “I could not write well for it these three days, and Hawes gave me double copies!”
“The cowardly fellows!” exclaimed Norman indignantly. “But you did not go?”
“No, Anderson senior stopped them. He said he would not have the Ballhatchet business begin again.”
“That is one comfort,” said Norman. “I see he does not dare not to keep order. But if you’ll only stay with me, August, I’ll take care they don’t hurt you.”
“Oh, June! June!” and he threw himself across his kind brother. “I am so very sorry! Oh! to see you put down—and hear them! And you to lose the scholarship! Oh, dear! oh, dear! and be in disgrace with them all!”