Fisher fairly tore his hair over this scoundrelly document. His impulse was to go over then and there, drag the writer out of his bed, and make him literally swallow his own words. He might have done it, had not the captain just then looked in.
“Why, what’s up?” said the latter, who seemed none the worse for his big climb. “What’s the matter?”
“Matter? Read this!” shouted Fisher.
Yorke read the letter. An angry flush spread over his face as he did so.
“He shall answer for it to-night!” said Fisher. “No, not to-night. Let the cad have a night’s rest. He shall answer for it to-morrow, though, before the whole School. Let me have the letter, old man.”
“If you’ll promise to make him smart for it.”
“You can make your mind easy about that.” Next morning, to the surprise of every one, a notice appeared on the door of each house.
Notice.
“A School meeting is summoned for this afternoon at 3.
”(Signed) C. Yorke (Wakefield’s).
G. Clapperton (Forder’s).
P. Bingham (Stratton’s).
L. Porter (Wilbraham’s).”