“Nothing of the sort, sir,” cried the doctor angrily. “I never felt more certain of the correctness of my ideas.”
“Tut—tut—tut—tut!” ejaculated Sir James. “Really, Grayson, this is too much.”
“Too much, sir? Nothing of the kind. A boyish escapade. Nothing more.”
“Well!” said Sir James drily, “when such cases as this are brought before us at the bench, we are in the habit of calling them thefts.”
“Theft: pooh! No, no!” cried the doctor stubbornly. “A boyish prank. He would have sent the boat back.”
“Would he?” said Sir James drily. “I suppose you think his companion would have done the same?”
“I have nothing to do with the other boy,” said the doctor shortly. “It was a most unfortunate thing that Dexter should have made his acquaintance.”
“Birds of a feather flock together, my dear Grayson,” said Sir James.
“Nothing of the kind, sir. It was my fault,” cried the doctor. “I neglected to let the boy have suitable companions of his own age; and the consequence was that he listened to this young scoundrel, and allowed himself to be led away.”
“Do I understand aright, from your defence of the boy, that you mean to forgive him and take him back!”