Varley, as it chanced, was the only one of the group who was facing the entrance. This fact accounted for his sudden change of tone.
A woman had come into the hall. She was a comfortable, middle-aged, plump person, whose hat was a trifle awry, and whose manner indicated much earnestness.
None of the others had seen her come in, and none suspected her presence till Varley spoke. Then everybody turned quickly.
“I’m looking for somebody,” said the woman briskly. “I guess he’s somewhere round this school. Only—only I ain’t quite as sure as I ought to be. And—and——” she hesitated, peering at the faces before her. Compared with the light out-of-doors, the hall was somewhat dim. “No, I don’t know whether he’s here or not,” she concluded.
“And his name——?” It was Varley who put the question; for Sam and his friends appeared to be tongue-tied, while the principal chanced to be in the background.
“Mercy me, but I don’t know! That’s the trouble—they didn’t seem to know, either, any of them—the men, I mean.”
“Ah!” said Varley courteously, but uncertainly.
The principal stepped forward. “I’m afraid we don’t understand, madam,” said he. “If you’ll kindly explain——”
The visitor laughed. “Dear me, but somehow I always do manage to get the cart before the horse! But the men, they said they thought—— Wait a minute, though!” She moved nearer Varley, and studied his face intently. “Wait a minute! I vow, but this one looks like the fellow. Yes; he’s the one.... No, he isn’t, either. He’s the boy that tried, and went rolling head over heels.”
Varley gave a sudden laugh. “I get it! You’re talking about the runaway. And you’re right—I was the fellow who took the tumble.”