“Those who say we won’t stand it any longer,” shouted Bramble, jumping up on to a form, “hold up your hands!”
A perfect forest of inky hands arose, and a shout with them that almost shook the ceiling.
At that moment the door opened, and Wren appeared. The effect was magical; every one became suddenly quiet, and looked another way.
“The next time there’s a noise like that,” said the monitor, “the whole class will be detained one hour,” and, so saying, departed.
After that the indignation meeting was kept up in whispers. Now and then the feelings of the assembly broke out into words, but the noise was instantly checked.
“If young Bellerby has been flogged,” said Bramble, in a most sepulchral undertone, “I’ve a good mind to fight every one of them!”
“Yes, every one of them,” whispered the multitude.
“They’re all as bad as each other!” gasped Bramble.
“We’ll let them know,” muttered the audience.
“I’ll tell you what I’ve a good mind to—to—ur—ur—I’ve a good mind to—ugh!”