“If you mean Stafford and—what is his name?—Felgate—I can’t congratulate you on your deputies. They were, in fact, aiding and abetting the disorder, and I have sent them to their rooms as incompetent. I would advise you to relieve them of their office as soon as you can.”
“Thank you for your advice,” said Railsford, whose blood was getting up. “I will make my own arrangements in my own house.”
“Of course, my dear fellow,” replied Bickers, blandly, “but you should really find two better men than those. There was no attempt to stop the disorder (which had been going on for half an hour) when I arrived. I had to castigate one of the ringleaders myself—Herapath by name, claiming kinship with you, by the way. I’m not sure that you ought not to report him to Dr Ponsford.”
It was all Railsford could do to listen quietly to this speech, drawled out slowly and cuttingly by his rival. He made a desperate effort to control himself, as he replied—
“Don’t you think, Mr Bickers, you might with advantage go and see how your own house is getting on in your absence?”
Mr Bickers smiled.
“Happily, I have responsible prefects. However, now you are back—and if you are not going out again—I will say good-night.”
Railsford said “Good-night,” and disregarding the proffered hand of his colleague, walked moodily up to his own room.
He may be excused if he was put out and miserable. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. And yet the manner in which the rebuke had been administered was such as no man of spirit could cheerfully endure. The one idea in his mind was, not how to punish the house for its disorder, but how to settle scores with Bickers for restoring order; not how to admonish the incompetent prefects, but how to justify them against their accuser.
He sent for the four prefects to his room before bed hour. Ainger and Barnworth, it was plain to see, had been informed of all that had happened, and were in a more warlike mood even than their two companions.