With scarcely a pause he went stiffly on his way. Bobbie looked after him. And though he may or may not have guessed, he never at all events knew how shockingly it had hurt.
He stood for a while, waiting uncertainly, and at last the door opened again and Coles and his friends came out. They were talking quietly to one another, and Coles turned to him as they passed.
“Here, you can cut. But jolly well be back here as soon as this show’s over. D’you understand that?”
Bobbie nodded excitedly and darted away. Henry had kept his word. He’d be there to cheer Rouse after all.
Thus, then, the last who were in Morley’s passed out to join the silent watchers who stretched in a vast half-circle before the stained-glass windows that hid the deputation and the Head, and the house grew strangely still. There was no creak upon the stairs, no voice in any room. Every boy had gone.
Yet not quite all.
In an upstairs study one remained. He stood at the window looking out into the dark, his shoulders squarely set and his heart throbbing with forlorn hope. Every man jack in the school had been a brick to him. It might be that they could win the day by strength of numbers. If so he believed that they would never have a more ardent captain in any year to come than he would be for them this term. But deep in his heart he was desperately afraid. The school were strong, but he had an instinctive fear that they would not be strong enough to win. So he stood waiting, a silent watcher, for the answer that would come.
A group of masters were standing quietly on the flight of wide stone steps; at windows and doors porters and servants of the school, their faces round with wonder, had gradually appeared; but the wide, stiff phalanx that showed the real strength of Harley’s purpose had never moved. Six hundred boys were waiting in silent dignity for an answer from the Head, and when he had drawn aside the heavy curtains and had gazed upon them, no single boy had seemed to move a muscle of his face, not even a solitary cough had snapped the magic of their studied silence.
So they had waited, and at last their answer was on the way. Under the archway the old oak door swung slowly on its hinges. Then Pointon came. He moved with a hesitant step, waiting for those behind him, and though the watchers had hoped that he would give them some kind of cue he made no sign, only at last, with Smythe and Terence at his elbow, and the deputation at his heels, he moved towards the crowd.