“What is it then?” asked the long-bodied boy.
“Arnott is my surname. Edward and Ernest,” he gulped again, “are my Christian names.”
“Mine’s Vernon Brown. I say, what’s your father?”
“A solicitor,” said Edward. “What’s yours?”
“A cricket—I mean a critic,” said Vernon.
“What’s that?”
This seemed to upset the long-bodied boy, who replied:
“Coo! Don’t you know what a cricket is? I mean critic. You must be a kid.”
Michael thought this was the most extraordinary conversation he had ever heard. Not even Mrs. Frith and Annie could be so incomprehensible.
“I don’t believe you know yourself,” said the pink-faced boy, deepening to crimson.