“There was a crowd down by the boat-house as I came along,” responded Simms, as well as he could speak for his chattering teeth. “I asked a fellow what it was, and he said he didn’t rightly know, but he thought one of the college boys had been found drowned in the water.”
Some of the gentlemen-listeners’ faces turned as pale as Mr. Bill Simms’s; as pale as each conscience. Bywater was the first to gather courage.
“It’s not obliged to be Charley Channing, if there is any one drowned.”
“But it’s sure to be him,” chattered Simms, his teeth as crazy as his grammar. “Griffin junior says Arthur Channing went to their house last night at twelve, and said they couldn’t find Charley.”
The consternation into which this news plunged the guilty ones is not easily described. A conviction that it was Charles Channing who was drowned, overtook them all. Schoolboys are not quite without hearts, and they would have given all they possessed, in that moment, to see Charles come flying amongst them, as usual. Some of them began to wish they were without necks; for if Charles had come to an untimely end through their work, they might stand a chance of furnishing employment to the veritable Mr. Calcraft, on their own score. Tod Yorke came leaping up in delight.
“Oh, wasn’t it good! The young one—”
“Hold your noise, Tod! They are saying he’s dead.”
“Who’s dead?” wondered Tod.
“Charley Channing. A college boy was found in the river, drowned.”
“Oh, that be hanged!” exclaimed Tod, half in mocking disbelief, half in awful fear. “It can’t be, you know. Who says it?”