“I’ve been talking so much, you say it.”
“Not I; I’m no speaker. Here, Dimock will.”
“Ay, that’ll do. One minute more, please,” called Somers, raising his hand to the boys, who, during this rapidly whispered conversation, were beginning to leave their places.
“Somers wishes me to add,” said Dimock, “that all the monitors and many of the sixth and fifth forms wish to express our best thanks to Power for the exceedingly honourable and fearless way in which he this morning maintained the rights and duties which belong to us. You younger fellows know very well that we monitors extremely dislike to interfere, that we do so only on the rarest occasions, and that we are always most anxious to avoid caning. You know that we never resort to it unless we are obliged to do so by the most flagrant offences, which would otherwise sap the honour and character of the school. Let us all be united and work together for the good of Saint Winifred’s. Don’t let any interested parties lead you to believe that we either do or wish to tyrannise. Our authority is for your high and direct advantage; I appeal to you whether you do not know it?”
“Yes, yes, Dimock,” answered many voices; and before they streamed out of the ball, they gave “three cheers for the monitors,” which were so heartily responded to, that the hissing of Harpour, Kenrick, and others, only raised a laugh, which filled to the very brim the bitter cup of hate and indignation which Kenrick had been forced that day to drink. To be addressed like that before the whole school—snubbed, reproved, threatened—it was intolerable; that he, Kenrick, high in the school, brilliant, promising, successful, accustomed only to flattery and praise, should be publicly set down among a rabble of lower boys—it made him mad to think of it.
“A nice tell-tale mess you’ve made of this business, Power,” he said savagely, the red spot still lingering on his cheek, as he confronted his former friend; “I hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”
“I, Ken? no.”
“Then you ought to be.”
“Honestly, Ken, who ought to be most ashamed—you, the advocate of Harpour and his set, or I, who merely defended my best friend for behaving most honourably—as he always does?”
“Always?” sneered Kenrick.