The members of the senior day-room made no reply, but continued, as Mr Kipling has it, to persecute their vocations. Most of them were brewing. They went on brewing with the earnest concentration of chefs.
"You're a cheery lot," said Stanning. "But I don't wonder you've got the hump. I should be a bit sick if we'd got a skunk like that in our house. Heard the latest?"
Some lunatic said, "No. What?" thereby delivering the day-room bound into the hands of the enemy.
"Sheen's apologised to Attell."
There was a sensation in the senior day-room, as Stanning had expected. He knew his men. He was perfectly aware that any story which centred round Sheen's cowardice would be believed by them, so he had not troubled to invent a lie which it would be difficult to disprove. He knew that in the present state of feeling in the house Sheen would not be given a hearing.
"No!" shouted the senior day-room.
This was the last straw. The fellow seemed to go out of his way to lower the prestige of the house.
"Fact," said Stanning. "I thought you knew."
He continued to sit on the table, swinging his legs, while the full horror of his story sunk into the senior day-room mind.
"I wonder you don't do something about it. Why don't you touch him up? He's not a prefect."