"My! They don't smell half good," reflected Hugh, sniffing with decided appreciation at the roasting apples placed on top of the stove. "There's apples and apples."
"And orchards and orchards," chipped in Masters.
"And some of them are easier to get at than others, eh?" smiled Bert, prodding a baking potato with the broken prongs of an old fork. "There never was a place such as this is for a wet day. Of course, when one's a senior it's easy enough to bag one of the Fives Courts and have a game. But not being a senior, of course——"
"You have to descend to the workshop," laughed Susanne. "It's good enough for me, anyway. I suppose if we all did as you'd have us, you'd be at Fives, Hugh in the Gym, and Clive hammering iron in the forge. As to Masters——"
"Ah!" grinned that unabashed youth, "I know what you're going to say. Of course, I'd be sweating at impots for that cad Canning. Now, would you believe it? after letting me off the one about a time and a place, the very day after he set me another. That's Canning all over."
There was a grimace as he ended. Masters had found Mr. Canning a strange mixture indeed, for whereas he had experienced his benevolence on the night after the rescue of those who had been plunged into the water, the master had been down upon him like a ton of bricks on the following day.
"Masters, you're not attending. What was the passage we were then construing?"
Masters made a wild shot, one which went very wide of the mark too.
"And that's what we were doing, then?" asked Mr. Canning sweetly.
"Yes, sir—at least, that's the best I can remember."