The color fled from Finch’s face as swiftly as it had come. He rose, threw down his pencil, and dashed out of the room. Mr. Roylston folded the papers, and then composed the schoolroom with a glance.
Finch was not seen about the school again that day. At nightfall he returned from the Woods where he had taken refuge, bought himself a bun or so at the Pie-house, for he was nearly famished, and having thus made a frugal supper, at eight o’clock he presented himself at the door of Mr. Roylston’s study in Howard House.
The master had no doubt in his mind that he had detected a flagrant case of cheating, a crime that was above all others abominable in his eyes. He bade Finch enter, when he heard his soft knock at his door, and then let him stand awkwardly a moment or so while he examined him critically. The haggard face, the hunted look, seemed to him those of a criminal.
“Ah!” he said at last, “you are here.”
“Yes—I am here,” Finch answered sullenly. “What do you want with me!”
“Don’t forget yourself. Incidentally, I may say, that you have involved yourself in an excessive number of late marks, if not in more serious trouble, by your prolonged absence to-day.”
“I’ll attend to that. What do you want with me?”
“In the first place, and instantly,” said Mr. Roylston in acid tones, “I want a respectful demeanor.”
Finch bit his lips. “I’m sorry.... But I’ll take what’s coming to me for being away to-day. You told me to report to you at eight o’clock. I am here.”
“Yes,” observed the master, “you are here. To come to the point——”