"It is not, and why did you call me."
Icicles began to hang from the roof. Mr. Neelands would have been well pleased if they had fallen on him, or a horse had kicked him—or anything.
He blushed a ripe tomato red. Bertie, deeply grieved, reviewed the situation.
"He said he wanted to see the teachers, and I just went and got you—that's all—you were the nearest teacher."
"Awfully sorry," began Mr. Neelands, "I did not know anything about it. I'm am just a stranger, you see."
There was something in Miss Morrison's eye which simply froze the library proposition. He could not frame the words.
"If you have any business with me you may make an appointment at the school. People who have business with the teachers generally do come to the school—not to the livery stable," she added, in exactly the tone in which she would have said "All who have failed to get fifty per cent. in arithmetic will remain after four," a tone which would be described as stern, but just.
Mr. Neelands leaned against a box-stall as Miss Morrison passed out. He wiped his face with the polka-dot handkerchief, and the word which the Cabinet Minister had used came easily to his lips.
"Why didn't you speak to her when you got a chance?" asked Bertie, anxious to divert the blame and meet railing with railing. He was always getting in wrong just trying to help people. Darn it all! Mr. Neelands could still think of no word but the one.
"I wish it had been Pearl," said Bertie, "Gee! she wouldn't ha' been so sore; she'd just laughed and jollied about it."