Dead silence.
"Come, speak out! Someone must have done it; baskets don't jump off tables by themselves."
After another short silence, one of the young day-pupils, who happened to be standing close beside it, picked up the basket and placed it on the table.
"Did you knock it down, Frere, my boy?" asked Mr. West.
"No, sir. It was one of the boarders; I don't know his name. I think he aimed it at some of us, and it fell on the floor instead."
Frere spoke innocently. He had never been to school before, and it did not occur to him that he was doing any harm by his frankness—least of all, to himself! The eyes of his friends and enemies alike glared reproachfully at him, but he did not notice them. It was Jack Brady who broke in.
"We threw the basket at them first, sir, and it did hit them!"
"Well, never do it again, Brady. Look what a mess it's made on the floor! And you others, you have been in the school longer; you ought to have known better than to throw it back. You might have broken something."
That was all. But the bitterness between the two camps was not lessened by the incident, and Frere was liked none the better for it.
However, now work began again, and ill-feeling was shelved perforce for the time. The sarcastic Green, for instance, found himself required to read the part of "Nerissa" to Mason's "Portia"; and Hughes was set to sketch Africa on the board in company with Vickers. The boys did not know that Mr. West had given a hint to the masters to mix the new and old element well together.