“Congratulate me upon the happy turn things have taken!” groaned the tutor, wiping his moist face. “Poor boy! poor boy! I ought to have seen him again. It was more than the high-spirited lad could bear.”
“Yes, sir; that’s it.”
“You back, Brigley? Was I thinking aloud?”
“Yes, sir; and I heard every word.”
“But the police?”
“They were off at once, sir. They’re going to hire a big boat and try and find him; but the inspector shook his head. He says he thinks it means being washed away to sea.”
That was a sad day at the tutor’s, Richard Frayne’s yellow-pupils going to and fro in the silent house talking of the cousins, and canvassing Richard Frayne’s act from different points of view.
The news soon spread, too, in the town; for the setting-off of the police with a couple of stout boatmen and the drags was enough to set the place in a ferment.
There were plenty there, too, ready to talk of the position, as everything leaked out by degrees, and formed an exciting topic to add to that of the previous day, during which some hundreds had flocked down to the ruins to see the spot where the two pupils had fought and one had been killed—so it was firmly believed. Now the journeys were in the other direction—down the flooded river—but here the remains of the bridge and the spot where the mill had stood were the only things which rewarded their enterprise; for the police-boat had been swept down for miles, and it was not till dark that the men returned by rail to report that they could do nothing in the fierce, rushing waters till the flood was at an end.
That evening, to Jerry’s great disgust, a crowd of idlers gathered on the opposite side of the road to stare at the tutor’s house, where the blinds were drawn down, as if they secured great satisfaction in gaping and whispering one to the other.