“I do not mean to,” said Anson, with his eyes glittering.
He got no farther, though he was prepared to say something crushing, for the door was flung open and their fellow-clerk came back quickly.
“Hullo!” he cried, “flute and hautboy. I say, Sim, put that thing away and don’t bring it here, or I shall have an accident with it some day. You ought to have stopped him, Noll. But come out, both of you. There’s some fun in the compound. They’re going to thoroughly search half-a-dozen Kaffirs, and I thought you’d like to see.”
“Been stealing diamonds?” cried Anson excitedly.
“Suspected,” replied Ingleborough.
“I’ll come too,” said Anson, and he began to rapidly unscrew his flute, but so hurriedly that in place of separating the top joint from the next he pulled it open at the tuning-slide, changed colour, and swung himself round so as to turn his back to his companions, keeping in that position till his instrument was properly separated and replaced in its case, whose lid he closed, and then turned the key.
“I’m ready,” he cried, facing round and buttoning his jacket over the little mahogany case.
“Do you take that shepherd’s pipe to bed with you?” said Ingleborough scornfully.
“Generally,” replied the fat-looking clerk innocently. “You see, it’s so nice when one wakes early, and I have learned to blow so softly now that I can often get an hour’s practice before I have my morning’s bath.”
“How delightful for the other boarders! You’re at Dick Tomlin’s house, aren’t you?”