The salutation proceeded from Stephen Bywater, who, in the boisterous
manner peculiar to himself and his tribe, had flung open the door
without the ceremony of knocking.

"I'm none the better for seeing you," growled Ketch.

"You need not be uncivil," returned Bywater, with great suavity. "I am
only making a morning call upon you, after the fashion of gentlefolks;
the public delights to pay respect to its officials, you know. How _do_
you feel after that mishap last night? We can't think, any of us, how
you came to make the mistake."

"I'll 'mistake' you!" shrieked Ketch. "I kep' a nasty old, rusty brace
o' keys in my lodge to take out, instead o' the right ones, didn't I?"

"How uncommonly stupid it was of you to do so!" said Bywater,
pretending to take the remark literally. "_I_ would not keep a
duplicate pair of keys by me--I should make sure they'd bring me to
grief. What do you say? You did _not_ keep duplicate keys--they were
false ones! Why, that's just what we all told you last night. The
bishop told you so. He said he knew you had made a mistake, and taken
out the wrong keys for the right. My belief is, that you went out
without any keys at all. You left them hanging upon the nail, and you
found them there. You had not got a second pair!"

"You just wait!" raved old Ketch. "I'm a-coming round to the
head-master, and I'll bring the keys with me. He'll let you boys know
whether there's two pairs, or one. Horrid old rusty things they be; as
rusty as you!"