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Updated: June 10, 2025
"I am sorry, sir, that Beaumont-Greene has been such a fool. We lent him this money, because he wanted it badly; and he said he would pay us back before the end of the term." "You stick to that story?" "Why, yes, sir. Why should we tell you a lie?" "Ah, why, indeed?" sighed Warde. Then his voice grew hard and sharp.
Thus John to himself. Beaumont-Greene, indeed, not only looked worried, he was worried, hideously worried, and with excellent reason. He had an absurdly, wickedly, large allowance, but not more than a sovereign of it was left. More, he owed Scaife twenty pounds, and Lovell another ten. Both these young gentlemen had hinted plainly that they wanted to see their money.
The two Sixth Form boys glanced at each other; at John; at the gross, spotted face of Beaumont-Greene. Then the senior said coldly "I suppose you have no objection, Beaumont-Greene, to promise Verney or any one else that you will leave young Kinloch alone?" "I've never laid a finger on the kid," growled the big fellow; but he looked pale and frightened. "Then you promise eh?" "Yes."
"At the Harrow post-office?" "Yes, sir." "Ah." Again the house-master picked up the letter, but this time he didn't lay down the lens. Instead he used it, very deliberately. Beaumont-Greene shivered; with difficulty he clenched his teeth, so as to prevent them clicking like castanets. Then Warde held up the sheet of paper to the light of the lamp. Obviously he wished to examine the watermark.
In his rage he, too, began to hurl what objects happened to be within reach, but he was a shocking bad shot; he missed, or John dodged every time. John did not miss. Finally, as John had foreseen, a couple of Sixth Form fellows rushed in. "What's the meaning of this infernal row?" asked one. "Ask him," said John. Authority stared at Beaumont-Greene, and then at his wrecked room.
"We don't want to drive you into the workhouse," said Scaife. "Thanks. Give you your revenge any time. I dare say between now and the end of the term you'll have most of it back." Warde asked Beaumont-Greene to sit down in a particular chair, which faced the light from a large lamp. Then he took up an envelope. Suddenly cold chills trickled down Beaumont-Greene's spine. He recognized the envelope.
"I told him to hook it, and he wouldn't," spluttered the gasping Greene. "Why?" Half a dozen other fellows had come into the room. Amongst them the Duffer and the Caterpillar. "I wanted to hook it," John explained, "because it's so beastly fuggy; but Beaumont-Greene wouldn't promise me to do something he ought to do." "This is mysterious."
The familiar cry that imperious call which makes an Harrovian feel himself master of more or less willing slaves echoed through the house. Immediately the night-fag came running; it was not considered healthy to keep Lovell waiting. "Ask Beaumont-Greene to come up here and " He paused. Warde had just turned the corner, and was approaching. Lovell hesitated.
Beaumont-Greene swallowed instead large quantities of food at the Creameries; and then wrote to his father, saying that he would like to have a cheque for thirty pounds by return of post. He was leaving Harrow, he pointed out, and he wished to give his friends some handsome presents. His father refused to play bridge on principle, because he could never remember how many trumps were out.
Warde took the letter from the envelope, and glanced at it with faint interest, so Beaumont-Greene thought. Then he picked up a magnifying glass and played with it. It was a trick of his to pick up objects on his desk, and turn them in his thin nervous fingers. Beaumont-Greene was not seriously alarmed. He had great faith in a weapon which had served him faithfully, his lying tongue. "Yes, sir.
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