All sorts of dreadful possibilities occurred both to masters and boys; and all the while a feeling of fierce resentment was growing against the fellows whose accusations had been the cause of all the mischief.
Dangle, as he crossed the Green to class, was hooted all the way. Brinkman was followed about with derisive cheers, and cries of “Look out! Corder’s coming”; and Clapperton, when he appeared, was silently cut. Fellows went out of the way to avoid him; and the chair on either side of him was left vacant in Hall.
“Did you hear,” said Ramshaw to his neighbour at the prefects’ table at dinner-time, “that they’ve begun to drag the lake to-day?”
A grim silence greeted the question. Fellows tried to go on with their meal. But somehow Ramshaw had destroyed every one’s appetite.
“Nonsense!” said Yorke. “He took food with him. You forget that.”
“That looks as if he’d gone off the beaten track somewhere,” said Fullerton.
“It does—and Hawk’s Pike is as likely a place as any other,” said Yorke.
“Whew! there was frost on it the other night,” some one said. “I wish the doctor would let us go out and look for him. We’ve a much better chance of finding him than police and guides.”
Here the signal was given to rise, and every one dispersed. Yorke stayed—one of the last. As he went out he caught sight of a solitary figure walking moodily ahead, with hands dug in pockets and head down, the picture of dejection.
Yorke could hardly recognise in this back view his old rival and enemy, Clapperton. Yet he it was. A few weeks ago, and he always marched to and from his house in the boisterous company of friends and admirers. Now he was left alone.