“Railsford, I want a word with you.”
Railsford looked sharply round and perceived who the intruder was.
“I can’t speak to you now, Mr Bickers, I’m busy. Now, boys, are you all ready? Off!”
And he started to run beside the race. Mr Bickers put as cheerful a face on this little rebuff as he could, and presently walked across to the winning-post to make another attempt. The race had been well won by Tilbury, who had beaten the School record hollow, and shown himself a long way ahead of his fellow-runners. He of course came in for an ovation, which included a “Well run” from Smedley, and a “Bravo, indeed” from Railsford, which he valued specially. It was while he was receiving these friendly greetings that Mr Bickers once more approached Railsford.
“Now you have a moment or two to spare,” he began.
“I’ve not a moment to spare,” said Railsford, irritated. “What do you want?”
“I want you to look at this letter. It concerns you.”
And he produced an envelope from his pocket.
“Give it to me,” said Railsford. “I’ll read it when I have time.”
“No, thank you. I want you to—”