“And they let you come up to London alone!” remarked Dr. Baumgartner when he got a chance.
“But it wasn’t their fault that I——”
Pocket stopped at a glance from his host, and plunged into profuse particulars exonerating his house-master, but was cut short again. Evidently the niece was not to know where he had spent the night.
“I suppose there are a number of young men at your—establishment?” said the doctor, exchanging a glance with Miss Platts.
“There are over four hundred boys,” replied Pocket, a little puzzled.
“And how many keepers do they require?”
A grin apologised for the word.
“There must be over thirty masters,” returned Pocket more pointedly than before. He was not going to stand chaff about his public school from a mad German doctor.
“And they arm you for the battle of life with Latin and Greek, eh?”
“Not necessarily; there’s a Modern Side. You can learn German if you like!” said Pocket, not without contempt.