“That’s one for you, Burton, when I get hold of you again,” cried Slegge. “I shan’t forget it. And—here, what’s the meaning of this? Where’s my practice-bat?”
There was a dead silence in the shady, wooden room, and three or four of the boys stood looking as if they were going to have apoplectic fits, for their eyes started and their teeth were clenched together, and they seemed as if they were trying to swallow something.
But there was no danger. It was only bottled-up mirth that they were striving hard to suppress.
“Ugh–h–h–ugh!” snarled Slegge, making a rush at the boys, who scattered at once, dashed out of the door before any of them were seized, and ran as if for their lives, to begin shrieking with laughter as soon as they were out of reach.
In his rage at what he looked upon as a theft, Slegge chased first one and then another; but he was too big, heavy, and clumsy to catch the delighted imps, who, as active as monkeys, dodged him at every turn, till at last he stood panting.
“All right,” he said. “I am not going to make myself hot with running after you; but the Doctor’s going to know that he has got thieves in the school. I am not going to be robbed for nothing, and if my practice-bat is not back in its place before night I shall go and tell Bewley that he’s got blackguards and fellows who use false keys in his school. So you’d better look sharp and bring that bat back. And here, mind this; the carpenter will charge six or seven shillings for putting on a new lock here, so you have got to find sixpence apiece before Saturday night and hand it over to me.”
But in spite of threats the bat was not brought back nor its purloiner or annexer betrayed. The bat was gone, and its owner’s practice was modified, for he did not care to improve the driving power of his first-class bats by having them bored and weighted with lead.