“Help me up, Stewart,” he said huskily. “I want to go to my room and wash, and—”
“What is the meaning of all this, pray?” said a cold, harsh voice, and we all looked round to see Mr Rebble’s white face just above the trap-door.
“Burr Major and Burr Junior been having it out, sir,” cried half a dozen voices at once, and the colour began to burn in my cheeks as I met the usher’s eye.
Chapter Nineteen.
Mr Rebble stepped up into the loft, closely followed by Mr Hasnip, who stared from one to the other with a peculiar smile upon his lip.
“Fighting, eh?” said Mr Rebble. “Disgraceful! Why, Dicksee and Dean have been fighting too, and—yes—Mercer.”
“Yes, sir,” cried little Wilson. “Mercer and Dicksee had theirs first, then Burr major and Burr junior. Bill Dean hasn’t been fighting. It was only that Burr junior gave him a wipe.”
I felt as if I were the chief offender, and as I heard these words, I longed not to deliver wipes, but to have a good wash.