Each parcel was attached to a long piece of string, and conveyed in state by the entire school to its respective destination. The Henniker was first fed. Amid shouts of “Cheer, boys, cheer,” and “Rule Britannia,” we marched up to her door and halted, while Smith, with the aid of a rake, lifted the parcel on to the small ventilator above the door, and gave it a little shove over the other side.
“Now lower away,” said he to the boy who held the string.
“Smith, I hear your voice,” cried the Henniker. “Smith, open my door, please.”
Except for the last extraordinary expression the Henniker’s voice sounded much as usual. No answer, of course, was given, and we waited until the parcel should be detached from the string.
For about five minutes it remained untouched, during which period the holder tried to attract the attention of the prisoner by sundry spasmodic jerkings of the string. At length the fish did bite. Without a word the parcel was detached from the string. We turned to go.
“Plate, knife, and fork in the cupboard,” cried out Smith, as we did so.
“You don’t mean to say,” said Rathbone, as we went along, “that you’ve put a knife and fork for her?”
“Yes, I have,” said Smith, in a manner which did not encourage the truculent Rathbone to pursue the subject.
The feeding of the two masters was a longer process. For to reach their door it was necessary to climb over a perfect jungle of desks and chairs piled up against it; and when reached it was discovered that the glass ventilator, which usually stood open, had been shut and fastened inside. But Smith was not to be baulked by a trifle. He coolly broke the glass with his rake, till he had made a hole big enough to admit the parcels, which, one after the other, were lifted over the opening, and lowered within reach of their respective owners. In the present case the string to which they were attached was double, so, when it was found that neither was taken, Smith gave the order to “run” the string, and let them drop the parcels off on to the floor. This was done, and we were turning to go, when Mr Ladislaw’s voice rose in angry tones.
“Listen to me, boys,” he cried, authoritatively.