“There’s nobody about. Come on. We can kick up as much row as we like!” shouted the high-principled Arthur. “Who cares for my spooney old brother-in-law, Marky?”
The shout of laughter which followed this noble appeal suddenly dropped into a deadly silence as the lank form of Mr Bickers appeared in the doorway. Arthur rapidly lost himself in the crowd. The two prefects, with flushed faces, elbowed their way into the room as though just arrived to quell the uproar. A few boys snatched up books and flopped down at their desks. But Mr Bickers had too keen an eye to let himself be imposed upon. He had witnessed the scene from a window in his own house, and surmising by the noise that no authority was present to deal with the disorder, had taken upon himself to look in in a friendly way and set things right.
“Silence!” he cried, closing the door behind him, and walking two steps into the room. “Where is Mr Railsford?”
“Out, sir,” said Stafford.
“And the prefects?”
“Felgate and I are prefects, sir. The other two are out.”
“And you two have allowed this noise and disorder to go on for half an hour?”
“We were going to stop it,” said Felgate, faltering.
“By looking on and applauding?” responded the master. “You forget that from one of my windows everything that goes on here is plainly visible, including those who stand at the door and look on when they ought to know better. Go to your rooms, you two.”
“We are in charge of the house, sir,” mildly protested Felgate.