"Well, my delightful and learned young friends----"

The class wilted in anticipation. But before he spoke again the door
opened and they rose thankfully with a shuffle of feet and
surreptitious clatter of desks. The clergyman waved to them. If the
little dark man was like a blackbird, captive and resentful, the
newcomer was like a meagre and somewhat fluttered hen. His hands and
wrists were long and yellow and sinewy. He wore no cuffs, but one
could see the beginnings of his Jaeger undervest under the black
sleeve. He rubbed his chin or smoothed the back of his small head
almost ceaselessly.

"You can sit down, boys. One moment, Mr. Ricardo, one moment
only----"

He spoke in an undertone. Robert knew it was about him. They both
looked in his direction. The little man jerked his head.

"Robert Stonehouse."

He sat motionless, trying to hide from them. But it was of no good.
The clergyman made an elevating gesture, and he rose automatically as
though he were tied to that gentleman's hand by an invisible string.
The desk was much too small for him and he had to wiggle to get free
from it. The lid banged. Instantly every boy had turned in his seat
to gaze at him, and he saw that this was the worst place that could
have fallen to his lot. In his corner he was trapped, a sea of
mocking, curious faces between him and his tormentors.