His brother saw him sitting there, and came up to him,
speaking in an undertone.
"Charley, you know the rules of the school: one boy must not tell of
another. As Bywater says, you'd get pummelled to powder."
"Look here, Tom. I tell you--"
"Hold your tongue, boy!" sharply cried Tom Channing. "Do you forget
that I am a senior? You heard the master's words. We know no brothers
in school life, you must remember."
Charley laughed. "Tom, you think I am a child, I believe. I didn't
enter the school yesterday. All I was going to tell you was this: I
don't know any more than you who inked the surplice; and suspicion goes
for nothing."
"All right," said Tom Channing, as he flew after the rest; and Charley
sat on, and fell into a reverie.
The senior boy of the school, you have heard, was Gaunt. The other
three seniors, Tom Channing, Harry Huntley, and Gerald Yorke, possessed
a considerable amount of power; but nothing equal to that vested in
Gaunt. They had all three entered the school on the same day, and had
kept pace with each other as they worked their way up in it,
consequently not one could be said to hold priority; and when Gaunt
should quit the school at the following Michaelmas, one of the three
would become senior. Which, you may wish to ask? Ah, we don't know
that, yet.
Charley Channing--a truthful, good boy, full of integrity, kind and
loving by nature, and a universal favourite--sat tilted on the books.
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