"It's the pistols," proclaimed Dick. "Brabazon has turned them out. I say, Bertie, though, that's not so bad; we had bets that he'd confiscate them."
"A pity but he could confiscate you," was the scornful retort thrown back.
Dick laughed. The throng echoed it. But Mr. Loftus went on his way, and made no further sign, his fine figure drawn to its full height, and his nose held in the air.
[CHAPTER III.]
Hard and Obstinate as Nails.
Dr. Brabazon sat at his desk-table, birch in hand. Not often were the whole of the boys assembled in hall as on this afternoon; there were smaller rooms appropriated to particular branches of study. A huge birch, apparently made out of ten besoms. The stump rested on the table, the pointed end with its tickling twigs, tapered aloft in the air. This formidable weapon, meant to inspire wholesome awe, had never been used within memory. Very rarely was it taken from its receptacle to be held in terrorem, as now, over the different desks, running down the side walls of the long room, and along the end of it.
The shooting of James Talbot the previous night in the plantation: was it an accident, or was it done of deliberation? This was what the Head Master wanted to get at: and he very particularly wanted to get at the gentleman who did it. Dick Loftus had made a clean breast of it, offhand; for it was in Dick's nature so to do. But, in spite of all the questioning; private, individual, and collective;—in spite of putting the school upon its honour;—in spite of the offered promise that the boy, if an accident, should be held harmless, nobody came forward to confess; the whole lot remained, as the Doctor in his vexation expressed it, "hard and obstinate as nails." So then the birch was got out.
"Gentlemen, I feel sure it was a pure accident, and I could extend my free forgiveness to the offender if he will only come forward in honour and avow himself. Talbot is going on well; will be amidst us again, I hope, in a few days; there's no earthly reason for his refusing to acknowledge himself. Mrs. Talbot, sitting now with her son, says she forgives him heartily. She is a Christian woman, gentlemen, and she is sorry for the boy, instead of angry with him, because she knows how sorry he must be himself for this. 'Accidents and moments of thoughtlessness happen to us all,' she has just remarked to me: and so they do. Come! I hope there's some honour left amidst us yet."
The appeal elicited no response. And yet, that one of the boys present had been guilty, there could be little doubt; or that he had gone out in a master's cap by accident or design. In the confusion of the news the previous night, when a rush was made to the robing closet, the caps of the two masters, then arrived, were found hanging there. Upon the boys being mustered, all who were known to have returned to school answered to their names. There was no confusion, no sign of guilt observable in any one of the responders: nevertheless, the offender must have made a run, as if for his life, sneaked in, replaced the cap, and mingled with the others.
"Won't you speak?" reiterated the Doctor, casting his eyes around in anger.
But not one answered.