Tommy turned crimson. "I?" he stammered. "Who says so? Stella?"
There was the suspicion of a smile about Monck's grim mouth as he made reply. "No; not Stella, though she well might. I've heard you being beastly rude to her more than once. What's the matter with you? Want a kicking, eh?"
Tommy hunched himself in his wicker chair with his chin on his chest. "No, want to kick," he said in a savage undertone.
Monck laughed briefly. He was standing against a pillar of the verandah. He turned and sat down unexpectedly on the arm of Tommy's chair. "Who do you want to kick?" he said.
Tommy glanced at him and was silent.
"Significant!" commented Monck. He put his hand with very unwonted kindness upon the lad's shoulder. "What do you want to kick me for, Tommy?" he asked.
Tommy shrugged the shoulder under his hand. "If you don't know, I can't tell you," he said gruffly.
Monck's fingers closed with quiet persistence. "Yes, you can. Out with it!" he said.
But Tommy remained doggedly silent.
Several seconds passed. Then very suddenly Monck raised his hand and smote him hard on the back.