“Mr. Roylston,” Tony spoke up quickly, to prevent Kit from uttering the ill-chosen words that he felt were on his lips. “You are probably much misinformed as to the facts, and if you will permit me to say so, with entire respect, you have not asked us a question. As for me, I would very much prefer that you referred the matter to the Head as you suggested.”
For once in his life Mr. Roylston was at loss for what to say. He looked at Tony as though he could not believe the evidence of his senses. He started to speak several times, and each time changed his mind. Finally, he said, “I think that I am competent to settle this matter without troubling Doctor Forester. I warn you that refusal to do my impositions will result in the usual penalties. Deliberate and prolonged disobedience will subject you to suspension or expulsion.”
“Very well, sir,” said Tony.
Mr. Roylston turned thereupon, and with what dignity he could muster, walked out.
“By Jove, Tony old boy, you got him. Bless you for keeping me from blurting out. I’d have spoiled it all.”
“Yes, kiddo, you certainly would. As a matter of fact, you have not been specially impertinent, considering the provocation; and what’s jolly well certain is that Gumshoe doesn’t want the matter to get to the Head. He knows who’s to blame, but he has it in for us. Painful person, isn’t he? Virgil’ll rot before I do his thousand lines or pay any attention to his gating. I wish he would take us to the Head. Well, I reckon Thornton will let Finch alone now. Let’s find Jimmie, and go and wash the blood off in the tank.”
So saying, they locked arms, and went singing “Up above the school-topp’d hill” down the corridor. They met Mr. Morris at the outer door of Standerland House. “Well, you seem to be particularly frisky this afternoon,” said he, “what’s up?”
“Absolutely nothing,” laughed Kit; “we’re just two good pure innocent happy schoolboys. Come on, magister; come for a dip with us in the tank.”
“Well, wait a second, while I stow sweater and stick, and I’ll be with you.”