And he had his chance when recess came.
"Hallo, Elgert!" cried Dobson, as he saw his friend. "I say, I want to ask you a question. Who was the first gardener?"—and he winked towards Charlton, who was standing near.
"Adam," was Elgert's reply; and Dobson nodded.
"Quite right; and who was the very last one that we know anything about, eh?"
"A fellow named Charlton, some relation to one of your Form, I think. Quite a public personage, and eagerly sought after by the police."
Poor Charlton! His face went white, and his eyes sparkled with anger. Dobson saw it, and laughed mockingly. Charlton was a weakly boy, and the bully was by no means afraid of him.
"Funny how some people have queer tastes," he went on. "I should have thought that breaking stones was no harder work than digging. By the way, it is breaking stones that they put convicts to, is it not?"
"You say that to insult me?"
Charlton spoke in low tones, and his face was very white; and Dobson laughed again.