"Um."
"It's all very fine saying 'um', Jim, but 'um' doesn't cut any ice. Here, I say, tell me this—who put you over the ropes and sent you across to kick the ball from my toes?"
"If Ah telled thee, tha'd know," was the crafty answer. "And then," he added, unusually communicative, "Ah'd ger a worse 'warmin'' fro' Ike Doccan than Juddy an' his pals wor gi'ing me that day tha stopped 'em."
"Ike Doccan! Why, that's the porter and handyman in Holbeck's House. Did he tell you to do it, Jim?"
But Fluffy Jim was quick enough to see that he had gone too far in mentioning names.
"No, it worn't him. Ah did it mesen, 'cos tha couldn't scoöar. Um!"
Nothing more would he say, despite all Dick's most artful questioning, so that the subject had to be dropped. But in the captain's mind a suspicion had been born. He remembered now the frequency with which Ike Doccan had joined the little group of Holbeck's House Seniors in the days that preceded the final tie. Not in the least snobbish himself, he had nevertheless thought it rather indiscreet, from the standpoint of discipline, for the prefect of Holbeck's House to be seen fraternizing with its porter, whose character for sobriety and good manners was not above reproach. He had, indeed, been twice dismissed for drunkenness, and twice reinstated because school porters were hard to find.
"Now," thought Dick, "I wonder if that precious gang were gambling on the match—betting against Foxenby winning—and didn't want me to score? By Jove! I recollect Smithies hinting in the train that some of our chaps had made bets with him, but I jumped down his throat about it. I guess it'll soon be my painful duty to have a talk with Luke Harwood about this."
By this time they had reached the crest of the long hill which led to the moors. The early moon shone clear upon the rough heathland path, along which Jim silently plodded.
"What's your game, anyhow, Jim? Strikes me you've brought me all this way on a fool's errand."