“And where is the list of names?”
Mills produced it, tremulously. Railsford’s brows knit as he glanced down it.
“Each of these boys gave you six stamps?”
“Twenty-one sixpences, ten-and-six,” said Dig, rehearsing his mental arithmetic.
“Yes, sir. I really didn’t mean to cheat, sir.”
“Yes, you did,” yapped Dig, who now that he was to finger his winnings had perked up wonderfully.
“Silence, Oakshott,” said Railsford angrily. “Your name is here, last on the list. Take back your six stamps, and write me out one hundred lines of Livy by Thursday morning.”
Poor Dig turned green, and staggered back a pace, and stared at the six stamps in his hand.
“Why!” gasped he. “I had Blazer—I—”
“Be silent, sir, and go to your study, and tell Tilbury to come here.”