“Might be better,” said Henry, “might be singin’.”
The Outlaws liked singing lessons not because they were musical, but because it involved no mental effort and because the master who taught singing was a poor disciplinarian.
“Might be better still,” said Ginger, “might be nothin’.”
The Outlaws slackened their already very slack pace and their eyes wandered wistfully to the tree-covered hill-tops which lay so invitingly in the distance.
“Afternoon school’s all wrong,” said William suddenly. “Mornin’s bad enough. But afternoon——!”
That morning certainly had been bad enough. It had been the sort of morning when everything goes wrong that can go wrong. The Outlaws had incurred the wrath of every master with whom they had come in contact.
“An’ this afternoon!” said Ginger with infinite disgust. “It’ll be worse even than an ordinary afternoon with me havin’ to stay in writin’ lines for old Face.”
“An’ me havin’ to stay in doin’ stuff all over again for ole Stinks.”
It turned out that each one of the four Outlaws would have to stay in after afternoon school as the victim of one or other of the masters whose wrath they had incurred that morning.
William heaved a deep sigh.