David spun the propeller once or twice.
“Well, he’s a jolly lucky chap,” he said at length.
Then he looked at Bags and saw in his eyes just that blind devotion that you can see in a dog’s eyes, if you understand dogs. He got up, and put a hand on Bags’s shoulder.
“It’s ripping of you to care, Bags,” he said. “I’m no end grateful. . . . Hell!”
| [1] | Later in the year, it may be remembered, the M. C. C. legislated on this subject. |
CHAPTER XVI
The school was assembled at evening chapel on the last Sunday of this summer term. To-morrow would be prize-giving, with all its attendant festivities, down to concert in the evening and another house-supper—perhaps—at Adams’s in celebration of their again having won the house cricket-cup. On Tuesday the school would break up, to meet again in large numbers on Friday for the match at Lord’s.
Just now the hymn after the third collect had been sung, but after that, instead of the chaplain continuing to read the prayers, the Head did so. Next him in his pew was Frank. And before the prayer for all sorts and conditions of men, there was a short pause and the silence became tense, for every one present guessed what was coming. Then the quiet, slow voice began again.