"I say, what d'ye think he's having for dinner?" burst out Fullarton. "Potatoes and salt."
"Potatoes and salt? Go along with you."
"Ask Loftus then; ask Brown. He had got nothing else but a Dutch cheese; he was washing 'em down with milk."
"What else could be expected of one who'd go to lodge at Mother Butter's?" was the scornful remark of Savage. "He must be a cad!"
"And an owl," squeaked Lamb, venturing forward. "Owls go out prowling at night. Nobody else could have told."
Clearly. A master who dined on potatoes and salt, and eat his words with a lie when his villainy was found out, was an owl, and all the rest of it.
Mr. Henry meanwhile was unconscious of the storm against him. He rather laughed over the matter, attaching no importance to it. His frugal dinner despatched, he was plodding on with his translation, when a little fellow, to whom he had promised some help in a tormenting French exercise, came in; and he was followed by George Paradyne, who often brought his Greek difficulties to Mr. Henry. George was a good classical scholar, but Mr. Henry was a better. Patiently he gave his best attention to both, putting his own work aside. He was always ready to help the boys out of hours, and encouraged them to come to him, though it was not in his line of duties.
Afternoon school began. A dull, weary afternoon, with inward dissatisfaction reigning. Mr. Henry called up the second desk, and found his pupils careless and troublesome, bordering on insubordination. He promised them punishment if they did not attend better. Master Dick Loftus especially was as scornfully insolent as he dared be. Not very long after they were sent back to their places, Dick lifted the lid of his desk, and fished up a rotten apple.
"Onions, see here. I've a great mind to shy it at him."
Onions glanced round the room; he enjoyed mischief as much as Dick, and was heartily hating and despising Mr. Henry: having nothing of the sneak in his own disposition, he could not tolerate it in others.