“From Mr Roe.”
“Mr Roe can scarcely be aware that I have refused a similar application to boys in my own house.”
Smedley made no reply to this observation, about which he had nothing to say.
“You had better go in, Smedley. I will explain to Mr Roe.”
Smedley looked at him in blank astonishment. It sounded more like a jest than sober earnest.
“I have my master’s exeat” he said; “if he or the doctor cancels it I shall go in at once, sir.”
It was Mr Bickers’s turn to stare now. He had overdone it for once in a way. His genius for interference had carried him a step too far; and with a “Very good, Smedley,” in terms which were meant to be ominous, he turned away and proceeded to where Railsford was.
It was to speak to Railsford that he had come out into the fields that morning. His interviews with Miss Violet and the captain had been by the way. Railsford was busy marshalling the competitors for the Shell quarter-mile, of whom there was an unusual number. He was too much engrossed to notice Mr Bickers until that gentleman called him by name.
“I want a word with you, Railsford,” said Mr Bickers.
“Now then, toe the line and be ready. Be careful about fouling. Are you ready?”