“I was nigh ’andy asleep that time,” said he, rummaging in his pocket for a lucifer.
“It’s all right; we were doing our prep, you know. Now we’ve got to be called over. If you stick here, we’ll be back in a jiffy, and then we’ll take you to see the shop,” said Wally.
“Thank’ee kindly,” said the guest; “don’t put yourselves about for me. Take your time, young gents.”
“We shan’t be long. I say, wait for us, won’t you? Don’t you go out with any other chaps. They ain’t in it, you know.”
“I ain’t a-going with nobody, don’t you make no mistake,” was the visitor’s satisfactory assurance.
They had some thoughts about locking him in, to make sure of him, but decided to trust his parole, and trooped down impatiently to call-over, binding one another to assemble at the shop immediately afterwards, whither Wally and Percy were to conduct their guest.
To the satisfaction of these young gentlemen, the bird was safely in his cage when they returned, dimly visible through the smoke, looking at the pictures in the illustrated paper. He meekly obeyed their summons, relieving their embarrassment somewhat by putting his pipe away in his pocket as he rose.
“Where’s the rest of the pals?” asked he.
“Down at the shop. It’s not the regular hour, you know. But we can get in with the key. Come along, Mr Rollitt.”
The old Watch-Tower, which, as the reader knows, is the oldest remaining portion of Fellsgarth, was rather an imposing-looking edifice for so mundane an establishment as the School shop. The shop, indeed, occupied only a small apartment on the ground floor, which had previously been used as a porter’s lodge, the remainder of the structure, including the disused belfry and watch-turret, being abandoned to the owls and ghosts and ivy, which accorded best with the ancient traditions of the place.