It was a poor thing
enough, made of paper, calico and straw, but they had christened it The
Rev. Theobald Pontifex, and he had a revulsion of feeling as he saw it
being carried towards the bonfire. Still he held his ground, and in a
few minutes when all was over felt none the worse for having assisted at
a ceremony which, after all, was prompted by a boyish love of mischief
rather than by rancour.
I should say that Ernest had written to his father, and told him of the
unprecedented way in which he was being treated; he even ventured to
suggest that Theobald should interfere for his protection and reminded
him how the story had been got out of him, but Theobald had had enough of
Dr Skinner for the present; the burning of the school list had been a
rebuff which did not encourage him to meddle a second time in the
internal economics of Roughborough. He therefore replied that he must
either remove Ernest from Roughborough altogether, which would for many
reasons be undesirable, or trust to the discretion of the head master as
regards the treatment he might think best for any of his pupils. Ernest
said no more; he still felt that it was so discreditable to him to have
allowed any confession to be wrung from him, that he could not press the
promised amnesty for himself.
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