There was no need to explain what the black mark meant: the men all looked lowering and discontented.
“I have had a letter and a telegram from Rowton,” said Long John; “both need attention. The man is in a high state of insurrection, and must be dealt with in a very summary manner. He is likely to come here at any moment.”
“That is true,” said Scrivener. “I know for a fact,” he added, “that Rowton is in town. He will, of course, demand the boy. What is your object, Piper, in keeping the lad from him?”
Piper, otherwise Long John, did not reply for a minute. He stood up looking gloomy and depressed. Then he said, abruptly:
“I refuse to disclose all my plans, but enough can be said to explain my reasons for the very strong move which I have just taken. Rowton is the gentleman leader of this School, but I, my men, am the real boss; but for me, where would any of you be now?”
“True for you, guv’nor,” said a couple of voices.
“I am the boss of this School. Two leaders cannot exist at the same time—one must fall. Rowton has defied me too long. All our plans will go to pieces, the police will get an inkling of our whereabouts, clues will be furnished to them, the scheme which we have formed to undermine society for our own best interest will fail, if there is a division in the camp. In short, the School will come to absolute and open grief. Rowton has defied me. I got the boy into my power because I intend to show Rowton who is master.”
“That’s fair enough,” said one or two again.
“’Tain’t fair to my way of thinking,” said Simpkins suddenly. “There ain’t one of us like Silver. No one has done us the good turns Silver has done, and he’s straight. I’d trust him—I’d trust him to the death.”