'We like mortgages,' said Bartie airily; 'they make the sheep grow.'
'We've got a new red carpet comin' for our livin'-room,' shouted Peter.
Bartie looked him over contemptuously.
'I've got a sister in London, and she makes fifty pounds a night by her playing.'
'You're a lie!' said Peter, who was new to the school, and did not know the Camerons.
'Take this, then!' said Bartie, and put his strong young fist in the face of his friend.
A big girl, saddling her horse, came and pulled them apart, after they had had a round or two.
'Haven't I got a sister who makes fifty pounds a concert?' demanded Bartie breathlessly.
'Ain't he a lie?' demanded the son of the slaughterer.
The big girl arbitrated instantly. Certainly Bartie had a sister who made hundreds and hundreds—more shame to her. Peter had better go home and read the papers, if he did not believe it.