He hoped,
outnumbered as he was, that the enemy would come on again and not give
the thing up in disgust; he wanted more.
On an occasion like this there is rarely anything approaching
concerted action on the part of the aggressors. When the attack came,
it was not a combined attack; Stone, who was nearest to the door, made
a sudden dash forward, and Mike hit him under the chin.
Stone drew back, and there was another interval for rest and
reflection.
It was interrupted by the reappearance of Psmith, who strolled back
along the passage swinging his dressing-gown cord as if it were some
clouded cane.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Comrade Jackson," he said politely. "Duty
called me elsewhere. With the kindly aid of a guide who knows the lie
of the land, I have been making a short tour of the dormitories. I
have poured divers jugfuls of water over Comrade Spiller's bed,
Comrade Robinson's bed, Comrade Stone's--Spiller, Spiller, these are
harsh words; where you pick them up I can't think--not from me. Well,
well, I suppose there must be an end to the pleasantest of functions.
Good-night, good-night."
The door closed behind Mike and himself. For ten minutes shufflings
and whisperings went on in the corridor, but nobody touched the
handle.
Then there was a sound of retreating footsteps, and silence reigned.
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