The class looked at the master, as if appealing from the irregular entrapment of this mode of examination. The master looked at the examiner, as if he would have torn him to pieces.
“I ask your pardon, learned governor,” said Riderhood, smearing his sleeve across his mouth as he laughed with a relish, “ ’tain’t fair to the lambs, I know. It wos a bit of fun of mine. But upon my soul I drawed this here bundle out of a river! It’s a bargeman’s suit of clothes. You see, it had been sunk there by the man as wore it, and I got it up.”
“How do you know it was sunk by the man who wore it?” asked Bradley.
“Cause I see him do it,” said Riderhood.
They looked at each other. Bradley, slowly withdrawing his eyes, turned his face to the blackboard and slowly wiped his name out.
“A heap of thanks, Master,” said Riderhood, “for bestowing so much of your time, and of the lambses’ time, upon a man as hasn’t got no other recommendation to you than being a honest man. Wishing to see at my lock up the river, the person as we’ve spoke of, and as you’ve answered for, I takes my leave of the lambs and of their learned governor both.”
With those words, he slouched out of the school, leaving the master to get through his weary work as he might, and leaving the whispering pupils to observe the master’s face until he fell into the fit which had been long impending.
The next day but one was Saturday, and a holiday. Bradley rose early, and set out on foot for Plashwater Weir Mill Lock. He rose so early that