Mr Forder, who had a peculiar faculty for saddling the wrong horse, was not satisfied with this explanation, and chose to suspect some other. Corder had never been a satisfactory boy. He had probably been making himself objectionable, and had been glad of an excuse to break rules. The master did not demand particulars. He gave the culprit an imposition, and ordered him to obey the rules of his house; and another time, if he had any grievance, to come with it to him instead of taking the law into his own hands.
Whereupon Corder departed in high dudgeon.
It was no use holding out now. He had better give in, and own himself beaten. It would be so much easier than resisting any longer.
For an hour of two he was permitted to go in and out unmolested. But after morning school, he was going out to solace himself with some solitary kicks at the football, when just on the steps of the house Brinkman pounced upon him.
“I’ve got you now, have I, you cad?” said he. “You just come back with me.”
“I won’t. Let go!” cried Corder, in a temporary panic, wriggling himself away and escaping a few yards.
Brinkman, however, was quickly after him, determined this time to hold him fast. Corder, though a senior, was a small boy, and had never before thought of pitting, himself against the Modern bully.
But once already this term he had come suddenly to realise that he could do better than he gave himself credit for. And now that matters seemed desperate, when there was no escape, and his fate stared him in the face, it occurred to Corder he would show fight.
He had right on his side. He had done no harm to Brinkman or anybody else. Why shouldn’t he let out, and stand up for himself?
So, to Brinkman’s utter amazement, he was met by a blow and a defiant challenge to “come on.”