There was silence for a moment. Masters looked anything but pleased at the train of thought the question gave rise to.
"Let's do something pleasant," he said. "My Governor don't understand a fellow. To begin with, look at my allowance! A dog'd be disgusted. As for the impots, he laughed—laughed, I tell you."
Bert grinned. This question of impots was in the case of Masters quite an amusing affair. Besides, whenever the matter was mentioned Bert's mind always went back to the day when Clive's magic pen was brought into requisition, and when Masters had conducted his work so skilfully that he had contrived to ruin the tablecloth and drench himself in ink. But to grin at this point was dangerous. Bert straightened his features while Susanne changed the conversation.
"Hullo! Here's Trendall," he said. "He and Rawlings don't speak nowadays. I'm a bit sorry for that fellow."
"So am I," agreed Bert.
"Acted like an idiot. Might have belonged to the Old Firm if he'd behaved," remarked Hugh magnanimously.
"Let's invite him to feed," suggested Clive of a sudden.
"I say!" cried Masters, hearing the words. "You know—well, I don't mind, of course. In fact, glad to invite him. But Trendall's a fellow to eat; it'd be expensive."
"Hang expense! Hi, Trendall!" shouted Susanne, always the prince of good fellows.
The object of their regard was at that moment crossing the quad, looking forlorn and unhappy. The new term had begun badly for him, in fact. He was depressed like every other fellow at the thought of Ranleigh's loss. And then, slowly but surely, and in some few cases rapidly and with uncouth bluntness, he was being led to see that he was by no means a popular individual.