"Finished your bath, Brady?"
"Yes, sir. I mean, I haven't had one. All the rest have. I wanted to tell you there's been a little—a little commotion, sir."
"What on earth do you mean? Not an accident?"
"No, sir; only it might have been. Toppin—little Trevelyan, that is—got into the deep end, and the March Hare—you know the boy I mean, sir—he thought he was drowning, and jumped in after him with his things on, and so they had to haul them both out. Toppin's as right as a trivet again, and as warm as a toast. And the Hare isn't hurt either, but he has to sit in a blanket and wait for his clothes to dry."
Mr. Anderson looked very agitated, and his voice betrayed his feelings.
"Why couldn't you behave as if I was with you? Really, it is absurd to think that all you elder lads can't manage to keep an eye on the juniors for twenty minutes. Where are these two boys? Take me to them directly! What do you suppose Mr. West will say? He'll certainly be extremely angry with you all. I shouldn't be surprised if he stops your coming here."
"We wondered whether you would feel obliged to tell him, sir," said Jack thoughtfully. "Of course, if you must, you must; but it doesn't seem as if there was much to be gained by it, does there? The March Hare and Toppin have learnt their lesson pretty thoroughly."
Mr. Anderson frowned and bit his finger, and the toe of his boot tap-tapped on the ground. It was evident he was undecided. Presently he looked at Jack.
"You mean that, provided I find these two lads absolutely none the worse for their ducking, you beg me, as a great favour, not to carry a report to Mr. West?"
"Yes, sir," Jack responded briskly.