Now it is undeniable that no elderly gentleman, of whatsoever position or condition, loves to be butted violently upon a generous lunch as he makes his placid way to his arm-chair, cigar, book, and ultimate pleasant doze. If he be pompous by profession, precise by practice, dignified as a duty, a monument of most stately correctness and, to small boys and common men, a great and distant, if tiny, God—he may be expected to resent it.
The Doctor did. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he struck the sobbing, gasping child twice, and then endeavoured to remove him by the ungentle application of the untrammelled foot, from the leg to which, limpet-like, he clung.
To Dam the blows were welcome, soothing, reassuring. Let a hundred Heads flog him with two hundred birch-rods, so they could keep him from the Snake. What are mere blows?
Realizing quickly that something very unusual was in the air, the worthy Doctor repented him of his haste and, with what dignity he might, inquired between a bleat and a bellow:—
“What is the matter, my boy? Hush! Hush!”
“The Snake! The Snake!” shrieked Dam. “Save me! Save me! It is under my foot! It is moving … moving … moving out,” and clung the tighter.
The good Doctor also moved with alacrity—but saw no snake. He was exceedingly perturbed, between a hypothetical snake and an all too actual lunatic boy.
Fortunately, “Stout” (so called because he was Porter), passing the big doors without, was attracted by the screams.
Entering, he hastened to the side of the agitated Head, and, with some difficulty, untied from that gentleman’s leg, a small boy—but not until the small boy had fainted….
When Dam regained consciousness he had a fit, recovered, and found himself in the Head’s study, and the object of the interested regard of the Head, Messrs. Colfe and Steynker, the school medico, and the porter.