“Ah, Tom! your ‘temper up!’ It is that temper of yours which brings you harm. What was the quarrel about?”
“I would rather not tell you, papa. Not for my own sake,” he added, turning his honest eyes fearlessly on his father; “but I could not tell it without betraying something about somebody, which it may be as well to keep in.”
“After that lucid explanation, you had better go and get some warm water for your face,” said Mr. Channing. “I will speak with you later.”
Constance followed him from the room, volunteering to procure the warm water. They were standing in Tom’s chamber afterwards, Tom bathing his face, and Constance looking on, when Arthur, who had then come in from Mr. Galloway’s, passed by to his own room.
“Hallo!” he called out; “what’s the matter, Tom?”
“Such a row!” answered Tom. “And I wish I could have pitched into Pierce senior as I’d have liked. What do you think, Arthur? The school were taking up the notion that you—you!—had stolen old Galloway’s bank-note. Pierce senior set it afloat; that is, he and Mark Galloway together. Mark said a word, and Pierce said two, and so it went on. I should have paid Pierce out, but for Gaunt.”
A silence. It was filled up by the sound of Tom splashing the water on his face, and by that only. Arthur spoke presently, his tone so calm a one as almost to be unnatural.
“How did the notion arise?”
“Mark Galloway said he heard Butterby talking with his uncle; that Butterby said the theft could only have been committed by Arthur Channing. Mark Galloway’s ears must have played him false; but it was a regular sneak’s trick to come and repeat it to the school. I say, Constance, is my face clean now?”
Constance woke up from a reverie to look at his face. “Quite clean,” she answered.