Afterwards, Tommy could scarcely believe it. And at the time it didn’t seem to be himself that was speaking. Even as he pronounced the words he seemed to be hearing someone else repeat them.
“It was a fish story, sir,” he said, grinning in sickly fashion, “a—er—Finnyfish story, don’t you know.”
“Tommy,” said Mr. Meadowcroft quietly, then corrected himself.
“Finnemore, you may get your books and go home and remain until Monday. At that time I will talk to you further.”
It seemed hours to Betty that she sat before that stern, pale judge while Tommy stalked to his seat, pulled the books from his desk, dropping one and another and still a third upon the floor, and finally stalked across the room and out slamming the door behind him. Still nothing happened. Was she to sit all day in that terrible place? And O, what of Rose? What of their visits to Dr. Vandegrift?
Meadowcroft struck the bell for the first classes, and one of them passed into the recitation room. Then he turned to the girls.
“You can go to your seats and to your classes now. I will talk to you, also, further on Monday,” he said rather wearily.
CHAPTER XXIX
THAT night when Meadowcroft alighted from the train at South Paulding, he found Tommy waiting.
“I didn’t mean to be so fresh this morning, honest and true,” the boy burst forth breathlessly. “I’m just no end cut up about it, Mr. Meadowcroft. I don’t see—gee! I wish you had given me one good licking.”