Bets gave a gasp. “Oh, Pip!” she said in a whisper. “It’s got such a rude message!”
The boy seemed to think it was time to go. He raised his cap, bowed deeply once more, and limped down the path, almost bumping into Bets and Pip.
“Bon jour,” he said courteously. Bets knew that meant good-day. She hardly dared to answer, because she was so afraid she might make him burst into tears again. Pip nodded curtly to the boy, took Bets by the arm, and moved smartly up the street.
To their annoyance the boy followed. “You will take me to tea with your friends?” he said, to their great horror.
“Certainly not,” said Pip, getting annoyed. “You can’t ask yourself out to places like that.”
“Ah, thank you a million times. You are so kind,” said the boy, and walked with them.
“I said, no, we can’t take you,” said Pip. “Go home.”
“I come, I come,” said the irritating boy, and linked his arm in Pip’s. “You are so, so kind!”
“Goodness, what are we to do with him?” said Bets. “I bet Fatty told him to come and meet us and ask to go with us. Fatty would be sure to want to get rid of him. He’s awful.” She turned to the boy.
“Go home,” she said. “Oh dear, I feel as if I’m talking to Buster when I say that! Do go home!”