But they remained there--in those corners. There
were so many dark places at Dawson's, and it began to get on his brain so
that he heard whispers and suspicions and marked the trail of the beast at
every minute of the day. He could find nothing now in the open--they were
too clever for him. The Captain of the Citadel--Ellershaw--was as he knew
the worst fellow in the school, but there was nothing to be done, nothing
unless something were caught in the open. As the term advanced the whispers
grew and he felt that there were plots in the air. He was obeyed, Ellershaw
and some of the others were politer than they had ever been, and for many
weeks now there had been no disturbance--then suddenly the storm broke.
One hot afternoon he was sitting in his study alone, trying to read. Things
seemed to him that day at their very worst, there was no place to which he
might turn. People were playing cricket beyond his window. Some fly buzzed
on his window pane, the sunlight was golden about his room and little
ladders of dust twisted and curved against the glare--the house was very
still. Then suddenly, from a neighbouring study, there were sounds. At
first they did not penetrate his day dream, then they caught his ear and he
put his book down and listened. The sounds were muffled; there was laughter
and then some one cried out.
He knew that it was Jerrard's study and he hated Jerrard more than any one
in the school.
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