The voice of the head-master came next,—“Hallo, what are you doing here? Let me see—Widdup, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
A mortar-board topped the palings. “Ingleby—What’s this? What’s this? What are you doing there?”
A moment of brilliant inspiration.
“Widdup and I were fooling, sir, and he chucked my cap over the fence. May I get it, sir?”
“Serious—very serious,” muttered the Head. “The letter of the law. Race-week. You’re out of bounds, you know—technically out of bounds. Boys have been expelled for less. Yes, expelled. Ruin your whole career.”
Edwin saw that he was in a good humour; saw, in the same flash, the too-literal Widdup, white with fear.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said . . . “awfully sorry.”
“Mph. . . . What were you two doing here?”