He left Jack now, and turned back into the schoolroom with deep lines between his brows, but implacable determination in his every movement, a determination that was directed against the poor cowering form that crouched still in the same position waiting for him.
Robin looked up at his coming, drawing himself together with a nervous contraction of the muscles like the mute shrinking of an abject dog.
Dick stopped in front of him. "So you're not going to take a caning!" he said.
There was no longer any rebellion in Robin's attitude. He dropped his eyes swiftly from his brother's face, saying no word. In the silence that followed, his hands began to work, straining ceaselessly against each other.
Dick waited for a few seconds. "Going on strike, are you?" he asked then, as Robin did not speak.
Robin shook his head dumbly.
"What does that mean?" Dick said.
Robin was silent. He was nearly dislocating his fingerjoints in his agitation.
Richard bent suddenly and laid a quieting hand upon him. "Robin, do you know you've got me into bad trouble?"
Robin gave a violent jerk, and in a moment stumbled to his feet. He did not look at his brother, but turned aside in his blundering pathetic fashion, and went to the littered writing-desk.