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The masters followed, looking very severe indeed; and, following the example set by Mr Morris, they all frowned and shook their heads at the great waste of time that would follow the passing of the procession. "So childish of the old man," said Morris to the French master, Monsieur Brohanne, a particularly plump-looking Gaul. "The boys will be fit for nothing afterwards."
He addressed a few words then to Rampson, who had nothing more to say after declaring his perfect certainty that not one of the boys he had the honour of instructing would have been guilty of such a crime. Monsieur Brohanne, too, declared himself as lost in astonishment at the trouble which had come upon them like a sudden tempest.
"And I feel as if I could No, I won't. I shall treat you with contempt." "That's right; do. I say, you are comforting me nicely, aren't you? Pig! disagreeable old jungle-pig! That's what you are." "Well, why don't you help me then? What am I to do?" "Get dressed, I think," said Glyn. "Don't be what old Brohanne calls a bete big fool. Do as I do.
Morris came bustling in to bow to the Colonel and take the seat to which the Doctor pointed, while Rampson and Monsieur Brohanne came in together from a walk round the grounds.
One month Monsieur Brohanne would have all the fun, as Glyn called it, an afternoon being devoted by the boys to the answering of questions, set by the French master, neatly printed upon a sheet of foolscap paper at the local printing-office, and carefully arranged upon a rough pad consisting of so many sheets of perfectly new blotting-paper upon each pupil's desk.
Mr Morris, to pass his three hours gently and pleasantly, opened a very old copy, by Blankborough, upon logarithms; Monsieur Brohanne had armed himself with a heavy tome of La Grande Encyclopedie, with a bookmark therein at the page dealing with the ancient langue d'oc; while Mr Rampson, also linguistical, opened a sickly-looking vellum volume, horribly mildewy and stained, and made as if to read a very brown page of Greek whose characters looked like so many tiny creases and shrinkings in a piece of dry skin.
Slegge, Senior not the pupil, for there was no other boy of the same name in the school, but Slegge pere, as Monsieur Brohanne would have termed him being sole proprietor of the great wholesale mercantile firm of Slegge, Gorrock and Dredge, Italian warehousemen, whose place of business was in the City of London, and was, as Slegge insisted, "not a shop."
There was a report, too, going about that Monsieur Brohanne had been seen walking up and down the class-room tearing his hair a most serious matter in his case, for it was exceedingly short.
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