"Suppose we walk him off to the shop and order what we like and then he can pay for it," suggested one of the party.
"I won't, though, I can tell you," said Tom, getting angry at being thus baited.
"Look here, you fellows, it ain't fair," put in Bob, when he saw they were going to walk Tom off by main force to the shop. "You leave it to me, and I'll talk it over with Flowers." And he linked his arm in Tom's to walk with him, and this would probably have pacified the rest, but Tom would have nothing to do with any of them now. He regarded Bob as being one of his tormentors, and pushed him aside when he came near him.
But in spite of this rough treatment, he contrived to say, "Look here, Tom, it's the usual thing to stand treat round when one of us gets a slice of luck, like you've got over Tittlebrat. Not that I want it for myself, for I shan't have a chance of returning it, so I won't take it, because I've promised that I'll never have any more to do with betting or gambling of any sort, I got bit so hard over this."
"So have I," interrupted Tom, in a tone of bitterness.
Bob opened his eyes to hear this. "I thought you stood to win a lot of money on Tittlebrat?" he gasped.
"So I did, but I ain't got it yet," replied Tom.
"But—but—I thought you told the fellows just now that you had ten shillings last night?"
"So I did; but I had to pay it away directly, for I had borrowed it."
Bob uttered a low whistle. "Borrowed it," he repeated. "My, suppose you had lost?" And he fixed his eyes on Tom as he spoke.