“No one of common-sense would be out,” said Beecham; “all would run to shelter somewhere.”
“But some may have been too far away to reach it. You know how sudden the storm was,” observed Bracebridge.
“What on earth is that?”suddenly exclaimed Tom Shealey, as he pointed to something or some one crossing the yard. After the last thunder-crash the rain had ceased suddenly. The wind dropped, and the storm, furious while it lasted, spent itself. The boys threw open the classroom window to get a better view of the yard. Some one had entered from the field gate nearest the woods. He was drenched; his hat was gone; his hair dishevelled. He was white and frightened. Although his clothes clung to his skin he was making violent, meaningless gestures as he ran, and appeared to be gibbering or muttering something as if in that stage of fright which borders on imbecility.
“It is Smithers,” shouted Shealey. “Let's go and see what's up. Hurry,”
“What's up, Smithers? What's happened?”asked Shealey, a moment later, hatless and breathless.
The frightened boy had a scared, wild look. He muttered something quite unintelligible. His lips were dry and white.
“Now be calm. Tell us quietly what has happened," said Bracebridge.
Smithers again gibbered something. The listeners could make nothing of it. They began to think the boy had lost his reason.
“—prefect—dead—struck—innocent,” were some of the words caught by the listening boys.