“What has that to do with it?” asked Toby smilingly.
“Well ... I understand,” said the other, “that this boy is the bosom chum of your own brother; and it is therefore not unlikely that he is a friend of your own....” He looked at Toby searchingly. “Under these circumstance, I cannot altogether expect that your good opinion of him is entirely unprejudiced.”
“Then,” said Toby, “why did you trouble to ask my opinion, sir?”
“I sent for you,” said the Head, “because you are games master, and I want to tell you that I do not approve of such buffoonery as took place during the game this afternoon.”
Toby’s natural inclination was to bow politely and ask leave to pack his bag. But it was at just such a time as this that his love for Harley grew most profound. So he kept silent, and he stood for a moment looking at the new Headmaster thoughtfully and as clearly in pity as he deemed polite.
“Do you wish to see Rouse?” said he at last.
“Certainly I shall see Rouse—but I shall not see him here. At Wilton I had the reputation of never doing the expected. I shall walk across to his house and speak to his house master. Then I shall visit him in his study. When you are older, Nicholson, you will know that it is in his own haunts, and when he is not expecting visitors, that you find animal or man as he really is.”
Toby’s heart sank. He looked dismally into the future and he could see no sunshine at all. With a Headmaster like this there could be no hope. It was going to be a lean year.
Well, if it was a question of Harley’s principles going under to a man who merely sought to make a sensational entry into the school, he would have to fight. And in the immediate future he would have to fight for Rouse. So in his mind’s eye he made a few movements as of a sailor about to start a hornpipe and followed the Headmaster out of the room. Dr Roe turned.
“That will be all, Mr Nicholson, thank you,” said he. “I will go alone.”