“All right, old fellow!” was now the cry. One observed, however, that Stroke did not take the matter so coolly as Six; for he had shed a tear getting out of the boat.
“Shed a fiddlestick!” squeaked a little sceptic.
“No” said another, “he didn't quite shed it; his pride wouldn't let him.”
“So he decanted it, and put it by for supper, suggested Edward, and puffed.
“None of your chaff, Six. He had a gulp or two, and swallowed the rest by main force.”
“Don't you talk: you can swallow anything, it seems.” (Puff.)
“Well, I believe it,” said one of Hardie's own set. “Dodd doesn't know him as we do. Taff Hardie can't bear to be beat.”
When they were gone, Mrs. Dodd observed, “Dear me! what if the young gentleman did cry a little, it was very excusable; after such great exertions it was disappointing, mortifying. I pity him for one, and wish he had his mother alive and here, to dry them.” *
*Oh where, and oh where, was her Lindley Murray gone?
“Mamma, it is you for reading us,” cried Edward, slapping his thigh. “Well, then, since you can feel for a fellow, Hardie was a good deal cut up. You know the university was in a manner beaten, and he took the blame. He never cried; that was a cracker of those fellows. But he did give one great sob, that was all, and hung his head on one side a moment. But then he fought out of it directly, like a man; and there was an end of it, or ought to have been. Hang chatterboxes!”