“Now, then, keep close, Harry,” whispered Philip, when they were in the garden; “keep close, and we’ll soon slip in.”
Harry did keep close, and Philip dodged behind all the evergreens and clumps that he could till they had only one great Portugal laurel to pass round, and then they could reach the side-door. Half a minute more would have settled it, when one of the French windows opened, and out stepped Mr and Mrs Inglis just in front of the trio.
Mrs Inglis’s face expressed the horror and compassion that she felt to see the boys in such a state, and, without stopping to ask questions, they were hurried in, and nursed and doctored into a state that made them a little more presentable at the tea-table, round which, when they were assembled, Mr Inglis listened to the recital of the conflict; and, much as he was annoyed at the not very creditable affair, still he could not see how the lads could have acted differently. It was a thing that he could not praise them for, and he did not wish to blame; so he contented himself that night with pointing out the folly of playing such practical jokes as had been schemed by Harry, saying that, however wrong others might behave, retaliation in any shape ought not to be thought of.
“But I say, Pa,” said Harry, “you would not have had us stand still and let those fellows knock poor Dick about, would you?”
“Come, boys,” said Mr Inglis, “it’s quite time you went off to bed, particularly after such a day as you have had.”
The boys said “good night,” and went off to their bedrooms, and as soon as they were out of hearing, Mr Inglis turned to his wife, and said—
“That last question was unanswerable, my dear, for duty said ‘Yes,’ while my heart said ‘No.’ The young dogs! What a knocking about they’ve got; but I expect that their opponents are in a worse position still. I’ve been thinking of taking proceedings against this Jones, for really this is such a flagrant affair; but, after all, perhaps we had better treat the matter with the contempt it deserves.”
What more Mr Inglis would have said I cannot tell, for he was interrupted by the stuffy-looking head of Harry being thrust into the room, and a voice that must have been his, though the lips were immovable, saying—
“I say, Pa, you ain’t very cross, are you?”
Harry was started off to bed again, and Mr Inglis turned to his books, so that the question was not discussed any more.