"I suppose we can, but you were always up to anything in that line. But now—well, there's been nothing since the skating but just maundering about like a parcel of girls."
"Would you like that skating business over again?—because I shouldn't! I do like a good lark as well as anybody, but I may as well tell you straight out, Tom, I mean to go on the square with our larks as well as with lessons. I shan't forget how near Frank Chandos was to dying for one while, and I mean to be careful in that direction for the future, for I shouldn't like to be a murderer, even in fun."
CHAPTER VI.
WAS IT ROBBERY?
April 13th.—A month since I wrote up my log. I have been home for a few days' holiday, but the rest has been all grind, and not a single lark. I'm afraid I shan't be able to hold out much longer; and yet it seems jolly mean when God has made Frank Chandos almost well, and saved me from being miserable all my life.
I had a letter from Frank yesterday, and he says he can run about—clamber over the rocks and build castles in the sand now. I wish I was at the seaside, though it would be better to be on the sea. I shall run away soon to get away from this grind if something don't happen, though I'm not sure that it wouldn't be as mean as cribbing. The fellows have sent me to Coventry over that, and everything is as dull as can be. I wish something would happen; even a row would be a change.
April 20th.—Something has happened, or is going to happen, at least; and I've laughed so much already over it that my sides ached. Yesterday morning I heard a knocking at our bedroom door just before the dressing-bell rang.
"Who's there?" I called out.
"Hush up and come out here," came a whisper through the keyhole.
I knew it was Tom, and though I felt inclined to give him a turn at Coventry at first, I got up and opened the door.