“Weatherby, sir,” muttered Jack.
“Are you a student?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What class?”
“Six.”
The professor looked at him searchingly, then dropped the hand from his shoulder.
“I find that hard to believe,” he said contemptuously. “I didn’t think we had any cowards here at Erskine!”
He turned away, and Jack, after a moment of hesitation, a moment in which his first inclination to protest against the injustice of the verdict was drowned in a sudden dumbing surge of anger, made his way out of the throng and stumbled back to his room through the gathering twilight.