To give the boy confidence he began to tickle him with rough fingers. Philip, feeling shy and uncomfortable, squirmed under his touch.
“I’ve put him in the small dormitory for the present…. You’ll like that, won’t you?” he added to Philip. “Only eight of you in there. You won’t feel so strange.”
Then the door opened, and Mrs. Watson came in. She was a dark woman with black hair, neatly parted in the middle. She had curiously thick lips and a small round nose. Her eyes were large and black. There was a singular coldness in her appearance. She seldom spoke and smiled more seldom still. Her husband introduced Mr. Carey to her, and then gave Philip a friendly push towards her.
“This is a new boy, Helen, His name’s Carey.”
Without a word she shook hands with Philip and then sat down, not speaking, while the headmaster asked Mr. Carey how much Philip knew and what books he had been working with. The Vicar of Blackstable was a little embarrassed by Mr. Watson’s boisterous heartiness, and in a moment or two got up.
“I think I’d better leave Philip with you now.”
“That’s all right,” said Mr. Watson. “He’ll be safe with me. He’ll get on like a house on fire. Won’t you, young fellow?”
Without waiting for an answer from Philip the big man burst into a great bellow of laughter. Mr. Carey kissed Philip on the forehead and went away.
“Come along, young fellow,” shouted Mr. Watson. “I’ll show you the school-room.”
He swept out of the drawing-room with giant strides, and Philip hurriedly limped behind him. He was taken into a long, bare room with two tables that ran along its whole length; on each side of them were wooden forms.