Chapter Twenty.
Deepest Depths.
We did not see Tempest again till the afternoon. As we most of us surmised, he was relieving his feelings after his interview with the doctor by a spin on the river.
How, I wondered, had the interview gone? Had he agreed to the humiliating condition of apologising to Mr Jarman, or had his pride been too much for him after all? If so, this was probably his last spin on the river.
Had our house been Selkirk’s, there would, no doubt, have been wagers on the event. As it was, the Philosophers contented themselves with bickering. The general impression seemed to be that he had refused to surrender. That being so, the game was up—there was no object in keeping up appearances.
A spirit of defiance seemed to get hold of us. We deliberately sat on the fence of the prohibited playing fields, in the hope that Mr Jarman or some one would see us. Trimble even went to the length of crossing it at one corner.
What made it more trying was the conduct of the day boys, who, with an acuteness which did them credit, seemed to have discovered our delicate situation, and resolved to make the most of it.
They paraded the field about twenty yards from our fence, jeering at us openly, and daring us to set foot on the turf.
“Look at them,” said one, “hung up like a lot of washing on the palings. We’ll make them cut. Let’s have a scientific meeting. That’ll clear them out.”
Whereupon the Urbans ranged themselves on the grass under our noses, and called upon Mr Flitwick to address them on the “Treatment of Lunatics.”