“Listen, youngster. I have my suspicions; I have had them all along; and I have a clue—that’s more. But, for a certain reason, I think my suspicions and my clue point to the wrong party; and I don’t care to stir in it till I am sure. One—two—three! for the last time. Will you tell me?”
“No.”
“Then, look you, Miss Charley Channing. If I do go and denounce the wrong party, and find out afterwards that it is the wrong one, I’ll give you as sweet a drubbing as you ever had, and your girl’s face shan’t save you. Now go.”
He propelled Charley from him with a jerk, and propelled him against Mr. Huntley, who was at that moment turning the corner close to them, on his way from Mr. Galloway’s office.
“You can’t go through me, Charley,” said Mr. Huntley. “Did you think I was made of glass, Bywater?”
“My patience!” exclaimed Bywater. “Why, Harry was grumbling, not five minutes ago, that you were never coming home at all, Mr. Huntley.”
“He was, was he? Is he here?”
“Oh, he’s somewhere amongst the ruck of them,” cried Bywater, looking towards the distant boys. “He wants you to see about this bother of the seniorship. If somebody doesn’t, we shall get up a mutiny, that’s all. Here, Huntley,” he shouted at the top of his voice, “here’s an arrival from foreign parts!”
Some of the nearer boys looked round, and the word was passed to Huntley. Harry Huntley and the rest soon surrounded him, and Mr. Huntley had no reason to complain of the warmth of his reception. When news had recently arrived that Mr. Huntley was coming home, the boys had taken up the hope of his interference. Of course, schoolboy-like, they all entered upon it eagerly.
“Stop, stop, stop!” said Mr. Huntley. “One at a time. How can I hear, if you all talk together? Now, what’s the grievance?”