"
Mike removed the yelling Sammy and shut the door on him.
"Well, Wilson?"
"Please, sir, I was playing with a clockwork rat--"
"What business have you to be playing with clockwork rats?"
"Then I remembered," said Mike, "that I had left my Horace in my desk,
so I came in--"
"And by a fluke, sir," said Wilson, as one who tells of strange things,
"the rat happened to be pointing in the same direction, so he came
in, too."
"I met Sammy on the gravel outside and he followed me."
"I tried to collar him, but when you told me to come in, sir, I had to
let him go, and he came in after the rat."
It was plain to Mr. Downing that the burden of sin was shared equally by
both culprits. Wilson had supplied the rat, Mike the dog; but Mr.
Downing liked Wilson and disliked Mike. Wilson was in the Fire Brigade,
frivolous at times, it was true, but nevertheless a member. Also he kept
wicket for the school. Mike was a member of the Archaeological Society,
and had refused to play cricket.
Mr. Downing allowed these facts to influence him in passing sentence.
"One hundred lines, Wilson," he said. "You may go."
Wilson departed with the air of a man who has had a great deal of fun,
and paid very little for it.
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