“My dear boy, ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies”—and at that moment a punt ran right into them.
“Now then, sir, look ahead!” spluttered Monkton as their punt was nearly upset, and his cigar falling from his mouth burnt a small hole in his flannel trousers. The intruder apologized and plunged on again to disturb the rest of other unlucky beings.
“Well,” went on Frank, “I’m glad I’ve not to pay your bill for pony-traps, that’s all.”
“Oh, well, as far as that goes,” retorted Monkton, waking up a little, “that don’t trouble me. I patronize the trustful Traces, and I’m sure the trustful one would be quite embarrassed if I offered to pay him; so I don’t. That’s all.”
“Does your governor give you an allowance?” asked Frank.
“Not he. He told me not to get into debt, and to send in the bills. And a fellow can’t live like a hermit. I’ve always had a horse at home, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t have one here. But I’m not proud, and so I hire a pony instead, and I’m sure the old man ought not to mind.”
“Come out of that, you lazy young beggar!” called a voice in Frank’s ears, and looking up he saw Crawford in one of those little cockle-shells in which Mr. Verdant Green so highly distinguished himself—“Aren’t you coming down to see the Eights?”
Monkton looked at Crawford with that expression of half insolence, half fear, which characterizes so many freshmen, and drawled out,—
“Yes; Ross is going. He’s so energetic, you know.”