“Yes. Well, here we are. I’m a terrible tartar to you over your lessons, but I’m not angry with you. Had some fights too, when I was your age. Now then, speak up like a man.”
The door was thrown open, and we had to walk in, the two ushers standing on either side of the door, like policemen dealing with culprits, and then ranging us before the Doctor’s table, behind which he sat, leaning back in his great leather-covered chair.
“Er—rum!” he coughed. “Sit down, Mr Rebble—take a chair, Mr Hasnip. Let me see,” he continued, adjusting his gold-rimmed eyeglasses. “Burr major, Burr junior,—humph! ought to be Burr minor,—Natural History Mercer who loves poaching the General’s rabbits, Dicksee, and Hodson.”
The Doctor looked severe, but not very, as he inspected us all.
“Hah!” he ejaculated at last; “four as disreputable-looking fellows as it would be possible to find in the lowest town in Sussex. Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?”
“No answer, eh?” said the Doctor, after a pause. “Well, Hodson, you are not like these four. You did not fight, I suppose.”
“No, sir. I was Burr major’s second.”
“That’s almost as bad as the fighting. Come, you shall speak out. Who was in the wrong?”
“Please, sir, I’d rather not give an opinion.”
“Please, sir, I know!” cried Dicksee.