"After all," began Bert, in those aggravatingly droning and dreamy tones of his, "you can't exactly blame the fellow, now can you?"
"Eh?" asked Hugh sharply. Here was an opportunity to be taken. A few more words from his respected brother would lead to a flare-up between them. Hugh rather wanted that. It would clear the air and get rid of some of his own irritability.
"Sticking up for the Canning beast, eh?" he demanded threateningly.
"No. Not quite, but—well, if you were in his shoes——"
"I'm not," snapped Hugh.
"But, if you were, you'd——"
"Wouldn't deign to wear 'em, ever," declared his brother haughtily.
"Oh, well, let's imagine someone else wearing them. He'd grin, wouldn't he? It was mighty funny, you know—er—for Canning."
"Oh, shut up!" shouted Hugh.
"Let's talk of something else," suggested Clive. "I say, the school's going to the dickens."