“How long has my father been here?” asked Glyn.
“About an hour, sir,” replied the man shortly. “I didn’t look at the clock. This way, please, sir. I am busy.”
It was so different from the Wrench of the past that it sent a chill through the boys, as they followed on and began whispering so that the man should not hear.
“Go on first, Glynny,” whispered Singh.
“Get out! I haven’t lost my belt,” was the reply.
“But the Colonel’s your father.”
“Well, I can’t help that, can I? It’s about your business. You go on first.”
“I shan’t. I have got something wrong with my legs,” said Singh. “They feel quite weak.”
“Come on together,” cried Glyn, and he thrust his arm through Singh’s, as the door was opened and the boys uttered a sigh of relief in concert, for the Doctor was not present, and at first they had to see the Colonel alone.
It was a strange sensation that ran through both, a mingling of dread, despair, and misery, as they gazed in imagination into the stern, threatening countenance of the fierce-looking old soldier, and wished themselves a thousand miles away. For Glyn felt more uncomfortable than ever before in his life, and as he darted a quick sideways glance at his companion it was to see no haughty indignant prince ready to stand defiantly upon his rights, but a fellow-pupil appearing as mild and troubled as could be.