“Fighting, sir,” said the stalwart Dicky, “and I licked him.”
“Why are you fighting?”
“Because Flitwick shied mud at Trimble,” said I.
The reason did not seem to appeal to Mr Sharpe, who replied,—
“You heard the doctor’s orders yesterday, Jones iv., about keeping off the playing field?”
“Yes, sir,” said I, realising for the first time that I was well out in the middle of the field, and that the rest of my comrades were looking on from a safe distance.
“Come to me after school for exemplary punishment. You are the most disorderly boy in the house, and it is evident a lenient punishment is no good in your case.”
“Please, sir,” said the loyal Dicky, “I lugged him on a good part of the way.”
“No, you didn’t,” snarled I—taking this as a taunt, whereas it was intended as a “leg-up”—“I came of my own accord.”
“Very well,” said Mr Sharpe. “You will come to me, Jones iv., of my accord”—and he walked away.