“Now then,” said Halliday, “in you go.”
Charlie’s knees shook under him, and he hung back from that awful door in mute terror.
“Come in!” again cried the voice.
“Do you hear, you young muff?” exclaimed Halliday. “Won’t you catch it! Go in, will you?”
And opening the door himself he fairly pushed my poor master into the head master’s study.
Fancy the agony of the poor boy, fully believing himself a doomed miscreant, entering for the first time the awful presence of the head master of Randlebury School.
He stood there with downcast eyes, not daring to speak, and rooted to the spot.
“Why, what’s the matter, my boy?”
At the words Charlie started like one electrified. He had surely heard that voice before somewhere! He looked up, and what was his astonishment to find in his dreaded principal no other than the gentleman with whom he had yesterday spent such a friendly hour in the train between Gunborough and Randlebury!
And his face was as kind as ever, and his voice encouraging, as he repeated,—