This four, Challis and Crashaw met in the morning-room of Challis Court one Thursday afternoon in early June. Elmer had brought a stenographer with him for scientific purposes.
“Well,” said Challis, when they were all assembled. “The—the subject—I mean, Victor Stott is in the library. Shall we adjourn?” Challis had not felt so nervous since the morning before he had sat for honours in the Cambridge Senate House.
In the library they found a small child, reading.
V
He did not look up when the procession entered, nor did he remove his cricket cap. He was in his usual place at the centre table.
Challis found chairs for the Committee, and the members ranged themselves round the opposite side of the table. Curiously, the effect produced was that of a class brought up for a viva voce examination, and when the Wonder raised his eyes and glanced deliberately down the line of his judges, this effect was heightened. There was an audible fidgeting, a creak of chairs, an indication of small embarrassments.
“Her—um!” Deane Elmer cleared his throat with noisy vigour; looked at the Wonder, met his eyes and looked hastily away again; “Hm!—her—rum!” he repeated, and then he turned to Challis. “So this little fellow has never been to school?” he said.
Challis frowned heavily. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable and unhappy. He was conscious that he could take neither side in this controversy—that he was in sympathy with no one of the seven other persons who were seated in his library.
He shook his head impatiently in answer to Sir Deane Elmer’s question, and the chairman turned to the Rev. Philip Steven, who was gazing intently at the pattern of the carpet.