“Yes, we do,” was repeated by all present.
When this impressive rendering was over, Wynne replied:
“I think I am a swotter all right.”
“Be it remembered,” said the Chief. “Little remains to be said. The C. I. D. will now report on this miscreant’s behaviour since arrival.”
Whereupon a foxy little boy came forward from one of the groups, and after making a profound obeisance to the Council began:
“He has worn his cap on the back of his head and put his hands in his trousers’ pocket. I have been to his bedder, and he wears a woollen nightshirt and combinations instead of pants and vest.”
Wynne felt himself flush with hot anger and resentment, and heard an expression of disgust from all present.
“Are these things true, O most wretched Wynne Rendall?”
“Yes, they are, but how dared that beastly little swine touch my box?”
“Be silent—scrag him—scrag the swotter,” came from all sides.