As his eye met mine, however, he seemed to recover himself and to make up his mind.
“Batchelor,” said he, “get the screwdriver.”
“What are you going to do?” asked some one. “Are you going to lock Hawkesbury out?”
“No,” said Smith, quietly; “but I’m going to let out the others.”
“What!” cried the fellows at this astounding announcement: “without waiting for their answer? We shall all get expelled!”
“No, you won’t!” said Smith, doggedly, and rather scornfully.
“You don’t mean to say you’re going to show the white feather?” said Rathbone.
“I mean to say I’m going to let them out.”
“Yes, and get all the credit of it, and leave us to get into the row,” said Philpot.
Smith turned round short on the speaker and held out the screwdriver. “Here,” said he, “if you want the credit, go and do it yourself!”