The door was suddenly kicked sideways and a heavy step sounded behind him.
“Now then,” said Coles. “What are you doing in my study? What do you mean by crawling in here? Are you looking for something to pinch?”
Henry turned and glared at him with concentrated fury. Coles took him by the collar.
“You get out,” said he.
Then he lifted a leg and planted a boot so severely behind Henry that he shot foolishly forward and cannoned into the door. He turned and seemed about to speak. Coles gave him no opportunity at all. He lifted his foot again, and this time the force of its drive sent Henry clean out of the room with one bounce and dropped him against the wall on the far side of the corridor. Coles was one of the best dropkicks in the school. Then he slammed the door and turned upon Carr.
And the thing that troubled Henry most was not the pain or the suddenness of those blows behind him, but the particularly stupid way in which he had made his exit from the stage.
Coles stared at Carr for a few moments thoughtfully, then he moved to his chair and, sitting down, planted his feet upon the table.
“Well?” said he. “I suppose you’ve come to report?”
“I thought I’d see if you wanted anything.”
“There is something I don’t want,” said Coles, “and that’s your friends. I take a pride in my fag. I never expect to have to call for you twice, and when I do call for you I don’t want all the riff-raff of the school trotting in behind you like the tail of a crocodile. If you’re palling up with that fellow Hope you’d better drop him. He makes me feel ill. Whenever I see that fellow I want to stamp him into the carpet, and if I see you about together it’ll make me angry with you, and then you won’t be happy.”