“Do you speak for yourself, Game,” said the doctor, “or for others?”
“For the monitors, sir; that is, for those who have signed that paper.”
The doctor folded up the petition and handed it back to Game without reading it.
“I am glad you have told me what it is all about,” said he, sternly, “in time to prevent my reading either the petition or the names attached. It does not do you credit as monitors, and I hope you will soon see the matter in the same light. I did not expect it of you, but I regret it less on your account than on account of the school, to whom you have set a bad example. You may go.”
The doctor spoke in tones of unwonted anger, not unmixed with scorn. He rarely “flared up,” but when he did it was always uncomfortable for those against whom his wrath was roused.
The deputation slunk off sheepishly, carrying their petition with them, and too glad to get out of the angry presence of the head master to think of anything else.
The doctor may have been right, and probably was right in thus summarily extinguishing the petition and the petitioners. But he had done it in a manner which was hardly calculated to smooth matters.
Indeed, when the deputation reported their bad success to the monitors who awaited them, the general feeling was far more one of anger at being snubbed than of repentance for having done a foolish thing.
“If Paddy had only taken the trouble to read the thing through,” said Ashley, “and honour us with one or two reasons for not doing what we asked, it wouldn’t have been so bad.”
“As it is he’s as good as told us to mind our own business and he’ll mind his,” said Tipper, little thinking how exactly he had described the case.