“You not sick of being always in?”
“You ass, Cetchy! What d’you mean by asking such an idiotic question?” was the excusably irritable retort.
“Au! Then why you not go out?”
“Look here, Cetchy. If you’re trying to make a fool of me, you’ll promptly find you’ve got the wrong pig by the ear. What are you driving at? Eh?”
The other looked quickly around. The two were alone.
“I not make fool. Ishinga ’nkulu not let you go out in day. Au! go out at night. Why not?”
We regret to say that by the above epithet—which being interpreted means “big rascal”—this descendant of generations of fighting savages was of late wont to refer to the Reverend the Headmaster of Saint Kirwin’s.
“No one see you,” he went on. “Quite easy. I go with you; we find lots of nests. We go to Hangman’s Wood again. Plenty of time. All night long.”
“Now, Cetchy, you young ass, how are you going to find nests in the dark?”
“Not dark. Plenty moon. Besides,” and here he looked round once more, and said something in a quick, hurried whisper. Haviland started, and his face flushed red with eagerness and excitement.