“Oh,” said the master softly. “Nice day for your sports, boys. Don’t let the other side win.”
“No, sir!”
“No sir!” came in chorus. “We won’t.”
But the book of Morris was open once more, and he seemed to be poring over a mathematical problem as he walked slowly away.
Meanwhile Glyn had reached the door of the lecture-room, hurried in, mounted the stairs, entered the room he shared with Singh, and selecting the key of the drawers, opened the one at the bottom, to find flannel trousers, Eton suit, and a carelessly folded overcoat.
“It is not here,” he said. “What an untidy chap he is with his togs, and how he gets them mixed! Don’t want to brag; but I believe I could get anything out of my drawers with my eyes shut. Well, I suppose it was because of dad. He always used to say that a soldier’s traps should be neatly packed together in the smallest space. Perhaps it’s in the next drawer,” he continued, as he thrust in and locked the one at the bottom. “No; he said it would be in the trunk,” and changing the key, he went to the corner of the little room, knelt down, thrust the key into the lock, and threw open the lid.
“Why, it isn’t here at the top,” he said to himself. “Oh, I am not going to turn over all his things.”
An ejaculation behind him made him spring to his feet, to find himself face to face with Morris, book in hand, the pair sharing the astonishment due to the sudden encounter.
“You here, Severn!” cried Morris, flushing up with anger, Glyn felt, for it was out of hours for being in the dormitory.
“Yes, sir. I was getting something from his box for Singh.”