“Yes, sir,” cried Morris springing up.—“Now, Wrench, did you ever tell me that Professor Barclay called when I was absent?”
“No, sir. I suppose it was the cricket-match put it all out of my head.”
“Bah!” cried Morris.
“And then, you see, sir, I have so many things to think of about my work and the young gentlemen that I haven’t got room to remember everything; and I always have to tick things off.”
“Tick things off? What do you mean by that?” cried Morris.
“Well, sir, there’s things to do and there’s things that’s done; things I have got to remember, and things I haven’t. The Professor said that he’d come and see you, so that was his job and not mine; and if you’ll believe me, gentlemen all, I never remembered about his coming until Colonel Severn here asked me about any one coming and wanting to write a letter.”
“I believe you,” said the Colonel quietly, as if speaking to himself; but it was sufficiently loud for Morris to hear, and he turned upon the speaker fiercely.
“I protest, sir,” he cried indignantly, “partly against my name being dragged into this despicable theft, and partly on behalf of my friend Professor Barclay, a scholar, a gentleman, and a professor of Sanskrit and other Eastern languages; a gentleman, sir, though a poor and needy gentleman upon whom the world had frowned, but whom I considered it an honour and a privilege to know, as I should any gentleman whom I was introduced to by my revered principal the Doctor. I cannot sit still and hear such a man even suspected of being dishonest; and I beg you, sir, and the Doctor will go on with this investigation so as to prove to the world that Professor Barclay was a gentleman indeed.”