The end of the week showed no improvement, and O'Rane was once more had up and thrashed. A fortnight later the procedure was faithfully repeated. It was a Saturday night, and when execution had been done, I stayed behind in Loring's study after Draycott and Dainton had left us. There was no prep., and the juniors were reading, fighting, singing, and roasting chestnuts till prayer-time.
"You know I'm about sick of this," remarked Loring, meditatively stirring the fire with the richly carved leg of a chair purloined from Draycott's study.
"O'Rane?" I asked.
"Yes; Dainton pretty well cut him in two to-night. It's like hitting a girl."
"He's a tough little beast," I remarked for want of something better to say.
"He's a pig-headed little devil," Loring rejoined irritably. "What does he think he gains by it? Does he imagine we shall get tired of it in time?"
"Don't ask me," I said.
He rolled over on one side and banged the door with the chair-leg. "Send O'Rane here," he said, when a fag answered the summons, and to me as the door closed, "I propose to ask him."
O'Rane, when he appeared, looked white and tired, but there was a sullen, smouldering fire in his dark eyes, and his under-lip was thrust truculently forward. Silently he put the saucepan on the fire, produced cocoa and a cake from one of the cupboards and set about opening a fresh tin of condensed milk.
"Is there anything else you want?" he asked, when the task was finished.