Mike at Wrykyn Read Online Free PDF Page B

something actively illegal,
increased. Like “Eric,” he burned, not with shame and remorse, but with rage
and all that sort of thing. He dropped off to sleep full of half-formed plans
for asserting himself. He was awakened from a dream in which he was batting
against Firby-Smith’s bowling, and hitting it into space every time, by a
slight sound. He opened his eyes, and saw a dark figure silhouetted against the
light of the window. He sat up in bed.
    “Hullo,”
he said. “Is that you, Wyatt?”
    “Are
you awake?” said Wyatt. “Sorry if I’ve spoiled your beauty sleep.”
    “Are
you going out?”
    “I am,”
said Wyatt. “The cats are particularly strong on the wind just now. Mustn’t
miss a chance like this. Specially as there’s a good moon, too. I shall be
deadly.”
    “I say,
can’t I come too?”
    A
moonlight prowl, with or without an air-pistol, would just have suited Mike’s
mood.
    “No,
you can’t,” said Wyatt. “When I’m caught, as I’m morally certain to be some day,
or night rather, they’re bound to ask if you’ve ever been out as well as me.
Then you’ll be able to put your hand on your little heart and do a big George
Washington act. You’ll find that useful when the time comes.”
    “Do you
think you will be caught?”
    “Shouldn’t
be surprised. Anyhow, you stay where you are. Go to sleep and dream that you’re
playing for the school against Ripton. So long.”
    And
Wyatt, laying the bar he had extracted on the window-sill, wriggled out. Mike
saw him disappearing along the wall.
     
    It was all very well for
Wyatt to tell him to go to sleep, but it was not so easy to do it. The room was
almost light; and Mike always found it difficult to sleep unless it was dark.
He turned over on his side and shut his eyes, but he had never felt wider
awake. Twice he heard the quarters chime from the school clock; and the second
time he gave up the struggle. He got out of bed and went to the window. It was
a lovely night, just the sort of night on which, if he had been at home, he
would have been out after moths with a torch.
    A sharp
yowl from an unseen cat told of Wyatt’s presence somewhere in the big garden.
He would have given much to be with him, but he realized that he was on parole.
He had promised not to leave the house, and there was an end of it.
    He
turned away from the window and sat down on his bed. Then a beautiful,
consoling thought came to him. He had given his word that he would not go into
the garden, but nothing had been said about exploring inside the house. It was
quite late now. Everybody would be in bed. It would be quite safe. And there
must be all sorts of things to interest the visitor in Wain’s part of the
house. Food, perhaps. Mike felt that he could just do with a biscuit. And there
were bound to be biscuits on the sideboard in Wain’s dining-room.
    He
crept quietly out of the dormitory.
    He had
been long enough in the house to know the way, in spite of the fact that all
was darkness. Down the stairs, along the passage to the left, and up a few more
stairs at the end. The beauty of the position was that the dining-room had two
doors, one leading into Wain’s part of the house, the other into the boys’
section. Any interruption that there might be would come from the further
door.
    To make
himself more secure he locked that door; then, turning on the light, he
proceeded to look about him.
    Mr.
Wain’s dining-room repaid inspection. There were the remains of supper on the
table. Mike cut himself some cheese and took some biscuits from the box,
feeling that he was doing himself well. This was life. There was a little
soda-water in the syphon. He finished it. As it swished into the glass, it made
a noise that seemed to him like three hundred Niagaras; but nobody else in the
house appeared to have noticed it.
    He took
some more biscuits, and an apple.
    After
which, feeling a new man, he examined the room.
    And
this was where the trouble began.
    On a
table in