“But how did he know? We don’t go about together in public. Lord, here’s the Head coming. Lucky I’ve got leave.”
They had gone through the gate into the master’s garden, beyond which lay the bathing-place. This was penetrable only by masters and by the sixth-form, and there was no turning back, or avoiding what was to David a rather formidable meeting. It was quite illogical that he should find it so, since he had leave, but he had not met the Head since the interview in the disused class-room, and the halo of terror still shone about his head.
He nodded kindly to the boys as they dropped into walking pace and took their caps off, and then stopped.
“Fine innings of yours, Maddox,” he said. “I congratulate you. You too, Blaize. A lot to expect, wasn’t it, that you should bowl Mr. Tovey’s eleven out one day, and keep up your wicket to win the match the next? Very glad you did it successfully.”
David, still rather awed, shifted from one foot to the other.
“Thanks awfully, sir,” he said. “I—I’ve got leave to bathe from Mr. Adams.”
The Head looked at him a moment, with a certain merriment lurking below his gravity.
“Quite sure?” he asked.
David saw this was a joke, and laughed.
“I want just a word with you, Maddox,” said the Head. “Will you go on, Blaize?”