There was a sharp tap at the door, but I was too savage and sulky to answer, and there was a fresh tapping on the panel.
“Vincent, why don’t you answer? I know you are in there.”
It was the voice of my fellow-pupil with whom I had been about to fight, when the general came upon us.
“Well, what do you want?” I said sourly.
“The governor has sent me for you. Come along, look sharp. He wants you in his room.”
My temper bubbled up like the carbonic acid gas in a chemical experiment, and my fists involuntarily clenched.
“To go there and be rowed,” I thought; “and all through Morton. He might have let me off now after bullying me before the chaps. And then to send Morton!”
I stood quite still, frowning and angry, but all was still outside, and it was evident that, after delivering his message, Morton had run down again.
“A prig!” I muttered. “Lucky for him he didn’t stop. I’d have punched his head if I’d been expelled for it.”
I crossed the room, and threw open the door to go down, for, amiable as the governor always was to us, he was most stern and exacting in having all his orders obeyed with military promptitude, and there stood Morton waiting with, as I thought, a derisive smile on his face.