“If Burgess flogs him I'll report it to the Governor,” cries North, in great heat. “The condition of those dormitories is infamous.”
“If the boy has anything to complain of, why don't he complain? We can't do anything without evidence.”
“Complain! Would his life be safe if he did? Besides, he's not the sort of creature to complain. He'd rather kill himself.”
“That's all nonsense,” says Macklewain. “We can't flog a whole dormitory on suspicion. I can't help it. The boy's made his bed, and he must lie on it.”
“I'll go back and see Burgess,” said North. “Mr. Meekin, here's the gate, and your room is on the right hand. I'll be back shortly.”
“Pray, don't hurry,” said Meekin politely. “You are on an errand of mercy, you know. Everything must give way to that. I shall find my portmanteau in my room, you said.”
“Yes, yes. Call the servant if you want anything. He sleeps at the back,” and North hurried off.
“An impulsive gentleman,” said Meekin to Macklewain, as the sound of Mr. North's footsteps died away in the distance. Macklewain shook his head seriously.
“There is something wrong about him, but I can't make out what it is. He has the strangest fits at times. Unless it's a cancer in the stomach, I don't know what it can be.”
“Cancer in the stomach! dear me, how dreadful!” says Meekin. “Ah! Doctor, we all have our crosses, have we not? How delightful the grass smells! This seems a very pleasant place, and I think I shall enjoy myself very much. Good-night.”