“He was speaking quite kindly about you,” persisted I.
Tempest checked the contemptuous exclamation which came to his lips, and said, more earnestly than I had heard him yet,—
“Look here, Jones; that fellow’s a cad; and he’ll make a cad of you, if you let him. Don’t believe a word he says to you, unless he calls you a fool.”
“I hope what he’s been saying to-day will turn out to be Lies,” said I oracularly.
To my disappointment Tempest evinced no curiosity as to my meaning, and relapsed into gloomy silence for the rest of the voyage.
For the first time in my life I felt out of humour with my old Dux. He had no right to treat me like a baby, or dictate to me whom I was to know and whom I was not to know in Low Heath. No doubt he thought he was doing me a good turn, and honestly thought ill of Crofter. But it did not follow he was not doing him an injustice, and demanding that I should join in it.
At any rate, I felt heartily miserable, and wished I had never put foot outside the faggery that day.
About a mile from home Tempest got out on the towing-path, and said he would trot to the school while I paddled the boat home. It was some relief to be left alone; a relief, however, which was considerably tempered by the fear of meeting Crofter, and having to explain matters to him. That difficulty fortunately did not occur, and I got back to the bosom of the Philosophers without further adventure.
In their sweet society I gradually recovered my spirits. Their enthusiasm for Tempest was still unabated, and their avowed contempt for his enemies all the world over was refreshing. A night’s reflection further repaired my loyalty. After all, thought I, Tempest meant well by me, and was willing to make an enemy for my sake. He might be wrong, of course; but suppose he was right—
The result of all these inward musings was that I offered Trimble to do Tempest’s fagging in his place next morning.