Yorke read, and as he proceeded, shame and anger rose to boiling-point in the audience, so that towards the end the reader’s voice was almost drowned in the hisses.
“There,” said the captain, crumpling up the paper in his hand and flinging it at the writer’s feet, “there’s your letter; and until you apologise to the whole school you have insulted, you needn’t expect we’ll bury the hatchet!”
Dangle scowled round and tried to swagger.
“Is that all the business?” he sneered.
“No!” shouted some voices. “He ought to be kicked.”
“Wait a bit,” cried Wally, excitedly, standing on a form, “there’s Rollitt’s governor just come. Some of our chaps have gone to fetch him. He’ll—”
Here the door opened, and, escorted by half a dozen of the juniors, Mr Rollitt, looking more bewildered than ever, walked in.
He looked apologetically from one side to the other, saying, “Thank’ee kindly,” and “No offence, young gents,” until he found himself at the end of the Hall among the prefects.
Then Yorke got up again, still hot with temper, and a dead silence ensued. Dangle smiled at first. But his face gradually blanched as he looked round and found his retreat cut off, and guessed what was coming.
“Mr Rollitt,” said Yorke, “we are your son’s schoolfellows. A great wrong has been done him. He has been suspected of being a thief, and has run away. We all now know that he’s not a thief; and we are ashamed that he has ever been suspected. We hope he will come back, so that we may tell him so. But there is one fellow here who still says your son is a thief, although he knows as well as we do he isn’t. What shall we do to him?”