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And then to the two lads' disgust, the whole school, with the exception of Slegge, and half-a-dozen of his party who wanted to join in the ovation but did not dare in the presence of their tyrant, began to cheer them as loudly as the boys without. Several of the younger juniors began to idolise them in a very juvenile way by hanging on to them, slapping their backs, and shaking hands.
Yes, and if it were not degrading myself I should strike you the same as I did that great bully Slegge." "Well, do if you like. I won't go crying to the Doctor and saying, `Please, sir, Singh hit me." "It would be lowering myself, or else I would. I, as a prince, can't stoop to fight with one of my own servants." "Well, look here," cried Glyn, "I don't want you to fight.
And the man hurried away, leaving the culprits to stroll out together into the playground, where they found fully half the boys waiting to hear the result of their interview with the Doctor, Slegge and his courtiers hurrying up first. "Well, beast-tamers," he cried sneeringly, "how many lines of Latin have you got to do?" And he grinned offensively at them both. "When?" said Glyn coolly. "When?
"Oh, that's it, is it?" cried Slegge, making a stride towards him. "Run, Burton, run!" cried two or three voices. "Shan't!" came again. "No," cried Slegge. "He'd better! I'd run him! Here, I don't want to hurt you, young un. You go and tell them both what I say." "Shan't!" cried the little fellow fiercely, and he looked his persecutor full in the face. "Hark at him!
"But they can't beat me at batting," Slegge said to himself grimly, and he worked at his practice like a slave. But as a slave he made others slave to wit, all the small unfortunates who took his fancy. "You needn't grumble, you lazy little beggars," he used to say. "Nasty, ungrateful little beasts! See what bowlers I'm making of you, and what fielders!"
"Here, I don't know what you mean," cried Slegge. "You seem to have got out of bed upside down, or else you haven't woke up yet. What do you mean by your letters?" "You miserable shuffler!" cried Glyn, in a voice almost inaudible from rage. "The Doctor only talked about a letter; but I've found you out."
Hark at the little bantam!" cried Slegge, with a forced laugh. "And look at them, boys. Look at the two slinking off like the curs they are, with their tails between their legs. There, you will be disappointed; there's no fight in them." The big school-hero was quite right certainly as far as one of the pair was concerned, for just then Singh was saying, "Oh, it's cowardly of you. I can't bear it.
It was about this time that Slegge gave his opinion to his following, which was rather large, he being the senior pupil and considering himself head-chief of the school, not from his distinguished position as a scholar, but from the fact that his allowance of cash from home was the largest of that furnished to any pupil of the establishment, without counting extra tips.
"Does he?" he said dubiously, and he turned his eyes from one to the other again. "Oh yes," said Slegge, with rather a pitiful attempt to speak in a jocular tone, which he could not continue to the end. "I am precious sorry I kicked you so hard. But you'll forgive me and shake hands won't you, Burton?"
The consequence was that the latter were getting close up and able to make out that a fierce fight was going on between Slegge and Glyn Severn, the former seconded by Burney, the latter by the young Prince. There was no shouting, no sound of egging on by the juvenile spectators, only an intense silence, punctuated by a hoarse panting sound, the trampling of feet, and the pat, pat, of blows.
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