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Bultitude by the collar and dragged him along in procession to the appointed spot between the two flags, while Siggers followed in what he conceived to be a highly judicial manner, and evidently enjoying himself prodigiously. Paul, though highly indignant, allowed himself to be led along without resistance.
Mavis drank some of the liquor and certainly felt the better for it. "I bought you a quarter of German," declared Mrs Bilkins, as she enrolled a paper parcel. "You mean German sausage," said Mavis, as she caught sight of the mottled meat, a commodity which her old friend Mr Siggers sold. "I always call it German," remarked Mrs Bilkins, a trifle huffily. "But what am I to eat it on?"
I've come here to play football with you, and how can I do it if you all slink off and leave me to play by myself?" he asked with pathos. "Please, sir," said Siggers, alarmed at the threatened loss of his dignity, "it's a trial, and I'm judge." "Yes, sir," the whole ring shouted together. "We're trying Bultitude, sir." On the whole, perhaps, Mr. Bultitude was glad of this interference.
At least justice would be done now, although this usher had blundered so unpardonably that morning. "This is childish, you know," said Mr. Blinkhorn, "and it's not football. The Doctor will be seriously angry if he comes and sees you trifling here. Let the boy go." "But he's cheated some of the fellows, sir," grumbled Tipping and Siggers together. "Well, you've no right to punish him if he has.
Siggers was telling stories of the dances he had been to in town, and the fine girls whose step had exactly suited his own, and Tipping was leaning gloomily against the wall listening to something Chawner was whispering in his ear.
Welcome back to your studies." And the six boys came forward, all evidently in the lowest spirits, and raised their tall hats with a studied politeness. "Some old friends here, Bultitude," said the Doctor, impelling the unwilling Paul towards the group. "You know Tipping, of course; Coker, too, you've met before and Coggs. How are you, Siggers? You're looking well.
It was safest to humour them, for after all it would not last long, and when they were tired of baiting him he could watch his time and slip quietly away. When they reached the goal-posts Siggers arranged them in a circle, placing himself, the hapless Paul, and his accusers in the centre. "You chaps had better all be jurymen," he said.
On these last occasions the school generally prepared itself for a rather formidable quarter of an hour. This was the case now and, as a further portent, Mr. Blinkhorn was observed to come down and, after a few words with Mr. Tinkler, withdrew with him through the school gate. "He's sent them out for a walk," said Siggers, who was skilled in omens. "It's a row!"
"I'll be judge, and unless he makes a clean breast of it," he added with judicial impartiality, "the court will jolly well punch his ugly young head off." Siggers' father was an Old Bailey barrister in good and rather sharp practice, so that it was clearly the son's mission to preside on this occasion. But unfortunately his hour of office was doomed to be a brief one, for Mr.
Grimstone came down the field at a majestic slow trot, calling out to the players as he came on "Well done, Mutlow! Finely played, sir! Dribble it along now. Ah, you're afraid of it! Run into it, sir, run into it! No running with the ball now, Siggers; play without those petty meannesses, or leave the game! There, leave the ball to me, will you leave it to me!"
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