“Let my things alone, kid. Tempest appreciates a mess in his place more than I do, so I’ve swopped you for Trimble.”
“What?” said I, in tones of mingled amazement and pleasure. “Am I—”
“You’re to go and fetch my blazer,” said Tempest, “that I left on the parallel bars in the gymnasium this afternoon. Look alive, or I shall stick to Trimble.”
I really began to think there must be something unusually desirable about me, that fellows should be so anxious to possess me. The Philosophers had with one accord sought me for president. Pridgin had wanted me. Crofter had wanted me. Even Redwood had wanted me. And now here was old Tempest putting in his claim! He should have me—I would not be so selfish as to deprive him of the coveted privilege.
In a somewhat “tilted” condition I went off on my errand, not even delaying to announce the great news to my fellow-Philosophers. It was a dark evening, and the gymnasium was some way off. But I knew the way by this time. I had daily walked past the area door and glanced down at the dangerous guy where it lay with its lolling tongue under the grating, to assure myself of its welfare. It was all right up till now, and in two days it would be off my hands.
The square was empty as I crossed it, and, to my satisfaction, I found the gymnasium door unlocked. I groped my way to the corner where the parallel bars stood, and there found the blazer, which I carried off in triumph.
As I emerged from the door and came down the steps, I became aware of two points of light in front of me, and a voice out of the darkness, which caused me to jump almost out of my skin,—
“Who is that?”
It was Mr Jarman’s voice—and I could just discern his shadowy form accompanied by that of Mr Selkirk standing before me. The two masters were evidently taking an after-dinner turn with their cigars, and had heard my footsteps.
“Jones iv., sir; I came to fetch Tempest’s blazer.”