I strolled on, passing on the way inquisitive stragglers who stared hard at me, till I came to where the road skirts the cricket field. Here, at a broken paling, I stood a moment and glanced in. Fellows were bowling and batting at the nets, others were strolling arm-in-arm up and down, hailing new arrivals; others were enjoying a little horseplay; others were critically examining the last season’s pitch; others, impatient of the seasons, were punting about a brand-new football.
How out of it I was! and yet how sure I felt that if some of those fellows only guessed who was on the other side of the palings they would feel interested!
I strolled on farther, and began now to pass the outbuildings. There was a lecture room, empty at present. Should I be there to-morrow? I wondered, answering to my name and seeing fellows open their eyes as they heard it.
There was the gymnasium, I supposed—the place presided over by the drill master whom Tempest so much detested. I meant to back Tempest up in that feud.
Ah, there was the Lion Gate, standing open to receive me. Little I had expected, when once before I entered it on my way to examination, that I should so soon be coming back, so to speak, in triumph like this.
It took some little self-persuasion, I must confess, to feel that it really was a triumph. I did think Tempest might have been on the look-out for me. I did not know where to go, or of whom to inquire my way. The boys I met either took no notice of me at all, or else stared so rudely at my hat and boots that I could not bring myself to accost them. At length I was beginning to think I had better march boldly to the first master’s house I came to, when, as luck would have it, I stumbled up against my old travelling companion, who, having safely arrived a quarter of an hour before, was now prowling about on the look-out for old acquaintances.
“Please,” said I, “would you mind telling me the way to Mr Sharpe’s house?”
“Are you a Sharper then?” he inquired. “My word! what are we coming to? Why didn’t you come up by the ’bus?”
“I tried to,” said I; “you wouldn’t stop.”
“Jim’s horses were a bit shy,” said he, with a grin. “They can’t be held in when they see a moke. You should have got in quietly, without their spotting you.”