“Why, he got up a sweep on the Derby, and got us each to shell out six stamps, and there were twenty-one fellows in, and I drew Blazer, the winner; and now he won’t give me the stakes, and says my Blazer is a mistake for Catterwaul!”
Railsford frowned.
“This is a serious matter. You know the rule about gambling.”
“Oh, please, sir,” said Mills, who had dropped all his bravado, as he realised that he stood a good chance of being expelled, “I really didn’t mean it for gambling; it wasn’t for money, only stamps; and I thought there was no harm. I’ll never do such a thing again, sir, really.” And he almost went on his knees.
“The doctor must deal with this matter, Mills,” said Railsford sternly. “You must go to him to-morrow evening.”
“Oh, Mr Railsford, he’ll expel me!” howled the culprit.
“Good job, too,” ejaculated Dig, sotto voce.
“Possibly,” said the master. “Where is the money?”
Dig’s spirits rose. He knew he would get his rights!
“The stamps—here, sir,” said the wretched Mills, going to his desk.