"No, by Jingo it doesn't!" thought the delinquent, ruefully.

"--and of late that observation has convinced me that you are unfit to hold the office you bear, for I have had you specially under my notice for some time past. As, therefore, you have proved yourself utterly unfit to hold office, I have made up my mind to deprive you of it, and you may now consider yourself no longer a prefect."

Here Haviland broke in desperately:--

"Sir, has there ever been any report against me--I mean of any disorder arising where I was in charge?"

The unheard-of audacity of this expostulation seemed to take away the Doctor's breath, to render him utterly speechless. _He_ to be answered, remonstrated with! Why, the thing was unprecedented!

"Silence, sir!" he thundered, rising in his seat, and Haviland thought he was going to strike him. However, he did not, and went on:--

"And as you have abused the reasonable liberty which the rules of the school allow--and that not once, but continually--thus setting a bad example where it was your duty to set a good one, you will be confined to the school grounds from now until the end of the term. You may go."

Seen from the windows of the somewhat sombre room in which he stood, the fair open country seemed to Haviland's gaze more alluring than ever in the summer twilight, as he heard his sentence of imprisonment. And now he might roam it no more.

Then, as he went forth from the dread sanctum, a feeling of desperation dashed with recklessness came upon him. They might just as well expel him now, he thought, and perhaps he would do something to deserve even that. Practically gated until the end of the term--a matter of about seven weeks! Yes, he felt desperate.

At the breaking up of preparation that evening there was considerable excitement among the groups scuffling to get a glimpse of the notice board in the big schoolroom, in the brief time allowed between prep, and prayers, and the attraction was a brand-new notice which ran thus:--

"Haviland--prefect.

"Suspended from his office and confined to the school grounds for the remainder of the term for gross breach of rules and general misconduct.

"Nicholas Bowen, D.D., Headmaster."

"It was a pretty stiff account to have to settle, all because a fellow's watch happened to stop," Haviland had remarked to Laughton and some others when giving an account as to how he had fared. "Suspended, gated for the rest of the term, and four hundred lines to do for Williams into the bargain."

The latter, however, was not to be added to his already burdened shoulders, for at dormitory time, when he went to report to Mr Williams that he was no longer a prefect, the latter said:--

"I'm sorry to hear that, Haviland. But now you must just lie quiet a bit and keep out of mischief. The Doctor's sure to reinstate you. Oh, and look here. You needn't do those lines I set you this afternoon. It doesn't seem fair that a fellow should have two punishments for the same offence."

"The Doctor doesn't seem to think so, sir," he could not restrain himself from saying. "But thank you very much, sir. Reinstate me? No.

The Doctor has a regular spite against me--why I can't think."

"Oh, nonsense, Haviland," said the master very kindly. "At any rate you must try not to think so. Good night."

But while uttering this protest officially, Mr Williams did so half-heartedly, for in his own mind he thought the young fellow had been very severely treated indeed, and that the punishment was out of all proportion to the offence.

CHAPTER TEN.

BROODING.

Haviland, fallen from his high estate, did not take his misfortunes well. He was of a proud and sensitive temperament, and now that he found himself humiliated, reduced to the level of the rank and file, deprived of the very material privileges he had formerly enjoyed, shorn of his powers, and now in a position to obey where for so long he had been accustomed to command--yes, the humiliation was intolerable, and for no greater crime than that his watch had unfortunately stopped. A mere accident.

Not that his former colleagues were in the least likely to add to his humiliation by word or act of theirs. _Esprit de corps_ was strong among them, very largely fostered indeed by his own influence while in a position to exert it. Even the two or three among them who disliked him would have shrunk from such an act, as being one of unspeakable meanness. And his fall was great. In seniority he had stood next to Laughton, the captain of the school, and were he eventually reinstated, he would lose this, and have to start again at the bottom of the list.

As for the juniors, some were unfeignedly glad, though their instinct of self-preservation made them remarkably careful not to obtrude that fact upon him, yet, though his strictness while in office had rendered him unpopular, now that he had fallen most of their sympathies were with him.

But from sympathy or condolence alike he himself shrank. His mind was bitter with thoughts of hatred and revenge--the latter, if only it could be obtained--yet why not? He was utterly reckless now. They could but expel him, and for that he didn't care--at least, so he told himself.

It was in this dangerous mood the day after his suspension that he encountered Jarnley--Jarnley and his gang.

But Jarnley had seen him coming, and tried to shuffle away. So, too, did his gang.

"Here--Hi, Jarnley!" he cried. "Wait a bit. I want to speak to you."

There was no escape, short of taking to his heels, wherefore Jarnley stopped, with a very bad grace and faced round.

"Eh? What is it, Haviland?"

"Just this. That day I smacked your head for bullying Cetchy you said you'd fight me if I wasn't a prefect. Well, I'm not a prefect now, so-- come on."

"Oh, I was only humbugging, Haviland," returned Jarnley, not in the least eager to make good his words.

"Then you'd rather not fight?"

"Of course I don't want to," said Jarnley, shrinkingly. "And, look here, Haviland, I'm beastly sorry you've been reduced."

What was to be done with a cur like this? Haviland knew that the other was lying, and was the reverse of sorry for his misfortunes. He had intended to give Jarnley his choice between fighting and being thrashed, but how, in the name of common decency, could he punch a fellow's head who expressed such effusive sympathy? He could not. Baulked, he glared round upon the group.

"Any one else like to take advantage of the opportunity?" he said.

"You, Perkins?"

"I don't want to fight, Haviland," was the sullen answer.

"Very well, then. But don't let me hear of any of you bullying Cetchy any more. He can tell me now, because I'm no longer a prefect; and any fellow who does will get the very best hammering he ever had in his life. That's all."

His former colleagues spared no pains to let him see that they still regarded him as one of themselves. Among other things they pressed him to use the prefects' room as formerly, but this he refused to do. If he had been walking with any of them he would stop short at the door, and no amount of persuasion could prevail on him to enter.

"You needn't be so beastly proud, Haviland," Laughton had said, half annoyed by these persistent refusals. "Why, man, Nick's bound to reinstate you before long. The notice, mind, says 'suspended' only."

At which Haviland had shaken his head and laughed strangely.

The confinement to grounds told horribly upon his spirits. Three miserable cricket fields--as a matter of fact they were remarkably open and s.p.a.cious--to be the sole outlet of his energies during all these weeks! He hated every stick and stone of them, every twig and leaf. He saw others coming and going at will, but he himself was a prisoner. Not even to the swimming pool might he go.

In sheer desperation he had followed Laughton's advice, and gone in for cricket, but had proved so half-hearted over the game, then bad-tempered and almost quarrelsome, that no one was sorry when he declared his intention of giving it up. More and more he became given over to brooding--seeking a quiet corner apart, and looking out on to the open country from which he was debarred. While thus occupied one day, a hand dropped on his shoulder. Turning angrily--thinking some other fellow was playing the fool, and trying to startle him--he confronted Mr Sefton.

"What were you thinking about, Haviland?" said the latter in his quick, sharp, quizzical way.

"Oh, I don't know, sir. Nothing very particular, I suppose," forcing a laugh, for he was not going to whine to Sefton.

The latter looked at him with straight, penetrating gaze.

"They tell me you've given up cricket again. Why?"

"I don't care for it, sir, never did. Everybody seems to have a notion that nothing can be of any use, or even right, but that confounded--I beg your pardon, sir--cricket and football. A fellow is never to be allowed to take his own line."