“Not a halfpenny,” replied Cashel, grinding his teeth.
“Oh, I say!” exclaimed the other, much disappointed. “That was beastly mean.”
“She’s as mean as she can be,” said Cashel. “It’s all old Monkey’s fault. He has been cramming her with lies about me. But she’s just as bad as he is. I tell you, Gully, I hate my mother.”
“Oh, come!” said Gully, shocked. “That’s a little too strong, old chap. But she certainly ought to have stood something.”
“I don’t know what you intend to do, Gully; but I mean to bolt. If she thinks I am going to stick here for the next two years she is jolly much mistaken.”
“It would be an awful lark to bolt,” said Gully, with a chuckle. “But,” he added, seriously, “if you really mean it, by George, I’ll go too! Wilson has just given me a thousand lines; and I’ll be hanged if I do them.”
“Gully,” said Cashel, his eyes sparkling, “I should like to see one of those chaps we saw on the common pitch into the doctor—get him on the ropes, you know.”
Gully’s mouth watered. “Yes,” he said, breathlessly; “particularly the fellow they called the Fibber. Just one round would be enough for the old beggar. Let’s come out into the playground; I shall catch it if I am found here.”