Then it was that conversation turned on Steggles. He was a new boy, due that afternoon. Hardly had the name passed my lips when the door opened, and the Doctor’s head appeared. The next moment a chap followed him.
“Ah! there are some of the fellows by the fire,” said the Doctor. “Is that you, Tomkins? But I needn’t ask.”
“Yes, sir,” said Nubby, rising.
“You are ill-advised, Tomkins, to spend the greater part of your leisure sitting, as you do, almost upon the hob. A constitutional weakness is thereby increased. This is Steggles. You will have time for a little conversation before tea.”
The Doctor disappeared, and Steggles came slowly down the room with his hands in his pockets. There was nothing to indicate a new boy about him. He had red rims to his eyes and a spot or two on his face, chiefly near his nose and on his forehead; his hair was sandy, and he wore a gold watch-chain.
“You’re called Steggles, aren’t you?” said Nubby, who was an awfully civil chap in his manners.
“I am.”
“Well, I hope you’ll like Merivale.”
“Do you?”
“All right in summer-time when there’s hay. Hate it when I’m ill, which I am now.”