“So it was,” I said, feebly. “We never could stand it--either of us.”
“A steaming glass of hot grog is what you want,” said Steggles, sympathetically.
“Go!” gasped Mathers, who really looked horrid now; “go! or I’ll kick you, if it kills me to do it.”
“Blessed if you haven’t turned green, Mathers,” said Steggles. “You look as if you’d been buried and dug up again. I don’t say it unkindly, but it’s jolly curious.”
At the same moment ting! ting! went a bicycle bell; and there was Milly, looking fine.
“You’ll all be late,” she said.
We prayed she would hurry on and not observe us too narrowly. Then that beast, Steggles, made her stop.
“Look here,” he said, “it’s frightfully serious because of the match--these poor chaps are ill--just cast your eye at the colors they’ve gone. They worried me to let them try to smoke, and--”
“I’ll break your neck for this!” interrupted Mathers. Then he turned to M.
“If you’re a lady, if you ever cared an atom about us, please ride on round that corner. We’re ill--can’t you see it?”