Robert had no book. He longed
for one. He knew that the clergyman was watching him again. His
companion nudged him, and by a stab of a stumpy, inky forefinger
indicated the verse which he himself was singing in an aggressive
treble. But Robert only stared helplessly. At another time he might
have recognized "God--love--dove--" and other words of one syllable,
and he liked the tune. But now he could see nothing but the clergyman
and think of nothing but the little dark man. He wondered madly what
the latter was singing now and whether he had managed to fit in "damned
rot--damned rot" to the music. But he did not dare to look.
A second prod roused him with a ghastly self-betraying start.
"You gotter sing," the small boy whispered fiercely; "gotter sing,
idjit."
"Wh-a-a-t?"
Robert made a loud, unexpected noise in his throat. His companion
choked, spluttered and buried his impertinent face in a grubby
handkerchief. The dark man left his post hastily and stationed himself
immediately at Robert's side in anticipation of a further outbreak.
Someone in the rear giggled hysterically. Robert dropped his head and
riveted his swimming eyes on the clergyman's boots. He made no further
attempt to save himself. He was caught by his mysterious, relentless
destiny. He had been found out.
3
Mr. Morton, the headmaster, believed in Hygiene and the Educational
Value of Beauty. The classroom smelt vividly of carbolic.
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