“I wasn’t talking about his life. I don’t believe it, either.”
“You think he enjoys his bad nights?”
“I think he scores by them. He’d tell you himself that he never even thinks of getting up to first school now.”
“Would you if you’d been sitting up half the night with asthma?”
“Perhaps not; but I don’t believe that happens so often as you think.”
“It happens often enough to justify him in making one good night pay for two or three bad ones.”
“I don’t call that playing the game. I call it shamming.”
“Well, if it is, he makes up for it. They were doing Ancient Greek Geography in his form at early school last term. Tony tackled it in his spare time, and got most marks in the exam.”
“Beastly young swot!” quoth his elder brother. “I’m glad he didn’t buck to me about that.”
“I don’t think there’s much danger of his bucking to you,” said Lettice, smiling in the red light. She did not add as her obvious reason that Horace, like many another athletic young man, was quite incapable of sympathising with the non-athletic type. But he guessed that she meant something of the sort, and having sensibilities of his own, and a good heart somewhere in his mesh of muscles, he felt hurt. “I looked after him all right,” said Horace, “the one term we were there together. So did Fred for the next year. But it’s rather rough on Fred and myself, who were both something in the school at his age, to hear and see for ourselves that Tony’s nobody even in the house!”