“Oh, good Lord, mother, of course I haven’t! People don’t have little friends. I don’t know what you mean.”
She looked rather pained.
“No friends! Oh, dear, dear, dear! But are there no nice boys that you like?”
“No. Most of them are awful rotters.”
She put down her beads.
“Clifford! I’m shocked to hear this. Rotters! I suppose that’s one of your school expressions—you mean no nice boys? Poor little fellow! I shall make a note of that.”
He looked up, rather frightened.
“What on earth for?”
“Why, I shall certainly speak to your master about it. Oh! to think that you haven’t got a single friend in the school! All bad boys! There must be something wrong somewhere!”
“Oh, mummy, for goodness sake don’t speak to anybody about it. If you say a word, I tell you, I sha’n’t go back to school. I never heard of such a thing! I didn’t say they were all bad boys—rot! No. Some of them aren’t so bad.”