“Take a seat, please, Burtis,” said Mr. Collins, closing the door. Kendall sat down in a chair at the end of the broad, flat-topped mahogany desk and Mr. Collins lowered a shade by a few inches at one of the windows and took his own chair. Then he looked at Kendall for a moment in silence. Finally,
“Well, Burtis, suppose you tell me all about it,” he said in a kindly tone. “That will save a lot of questions.”
“Why, sir,” replied Kendall, “there—there isn’t anything much to tell, sir. I didn’t think about the rule, sir. I don’t mean that I didn’t know it, only—”
Mr. Collins frowned.
“Never mind about that part of it, Burtis. What induced you to do such a silly, childish thing, my boy?”
“Do—do what, Mr. Collins?”
“Come, come now! Don’t beat about the bush, Burtis.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, sir,” replied Kendall bewilderedly. “If you mean why did I go out after lock-up—”
“I mean,” said Mr. Collins shortly, drumming with his finger-tips on the top of the desk, “I mean why did you daub the flagpole with green paint? What was your idea in doing such an idiotic thing?”
Kendall stared in amazement.