“Oh, the whole town is talking of it, sir. Of course, that does not prove its truth; but the college boys believe it. They think,” said Roland, pointedly, “that the dean ought to ascertain its grounds of foundation, and to interfere. Tom Channing is bearing the brunt of this false accusation on his brother, which some of the cowards are casting to him. It would be too bad were Pye to deprive him of the seniorship!”
“You think the accusation on Arthur Channing to be a false one?” returned the dean.
“There never was a more false accusation brought in this world,” replied Roland, relapsing into excitement. “I would answer for Arthur Channing with my own life. He is entirely innocent. Good afternoon, Mr. Dean. If I stop longer, I may say more than’s polite; there’s no telling. Things that I have heard this afternoon have put my temper up.”
He strode away towards the west door, leaving the dean looking after him with a smile. The dean had been on terms of friendship with Dr. Yorke, and was intimate with his family. Roland’s words were a somewhat singular corroboration of Arthur Channing’s private defence to the dean only an hour ago.
Meanwhile Gaunt had gone up to scatter the noisy crew. “A nice row you have got me into with your quarrelling,” he exclaimed. “The dean has been in the chapter-house all the time, and isn’t he in a passion! He threatens to shut up the cloisters.”
The announcement brought stillness, chagrin. “What a bothering old duffer he is, that dean!” uttered Bywater. “He is always turning up when he’s not wanted.”
“Take your books, and disperse in silence,” was the command of the senior boy.
“Stop a bit,” said Bywater, turning himself round and about for general inspection. “Look at me! Can I go home?”
“My!” roared the boys, who had been too preoccupied to be observant. “Haven’t they come to grief!”
“But can I go through the streets?”