"Lewis junior," said the master, "go into college, and ask the bedesmen who it is that is dead."
Lewis junior clattered out. When he came back he walked very softly, and looked as white as a sheet.
"Well?" cried Mr. Wilberforce—for Lewis did not speak.
"It's tolling for Henry Arkell, sir."
"Henry Arkell!" uttered the master. "Is he really dead? Are you ill, Lewis junior? What's the matter?"
"Nothing, sir."
"But it is an entirely unprecedented proceeding for the cathedral bell to toll for a college boy," repeated Mr. Wilberforce, revolving the news. "The old bedesmen must be making some mistake. Half of them are deaf, and the other half are stupid. I shall send to inquire: we must have no irregularity about these things. Lewis junior."
"Yes, sir."
"Lewis junior, you are ill, sir," repeated the master, sharply. "Don't say you are not. Sit down, sir."
Lewis junior humbly sat down. He appeared to have the ague.