The Tadpole obeyed, and glared triumphantly at Stephen.
“Now, Master Greenfield,” said Pembury, addressing Stephen; “have the kindness to hand me the ink.”
Stephen hesitated; he felt sure Anthony was a master; and yet Oliver’s directions had been explicit.
“Do you hear?” thundered Anthony.
“Do you hear?” squeaked the Tadpole, delighted to have the tables turned on his adversary.
“Oliver said I wasn’t to let it go,” faltered Stephen.
“Do you hear me, sir?” again demanded Anthony.
“Do you hear? give it up!” again squeaked the Tadpole.
Stephen sighed, and surrendered the inkpot. There was an air of authority about Pembury which he dared not defy.
“Now, Master Tadpole, here’s your ink; half a pot you said? Put your hands behind you, and stir if you dare!” and Pembury looked so awful as he spoke that the wretched boy was quite petrified.