“Then you’ll have to interfere.”
“Why, what a bloodthirsty chap you are, Wray! You are longing for me to quarrel with Loman. I’ll wait till young Stephen asks me to.”
“Do you think he will? He’s a proud little chap.”
Oliver laughed. “It’ll serve him right if he does get a lesson. Did ever you see such a lot of young cannibals as those youngsters? Are you coming to have supper with me?”
The nine o’clock bell soon rang, and, as usual, Oliver went to his door and shouted for Paul.
No Paul came.
He shouted again and again, but the fag did not appear. “They mean business,” he said. “What shall I do? Paul!”
This time there came a reply down the passage—“Shan’t come!”
“Ho, he!” said Oliver; “this is serious; they are sticking to their strike with a vengeance! I suppose I must go and look for my fag, eh, Wray? Discipline must be maintained.”
So saying, Oliver stepped out into the passage and strolled off in the direction from which the rebel’s voice had proceeded. The passages were empty; only in the Fourth Junior room was there a sound of clamour.