“What’s it all about?” asked Somers of Kenrick.
“Because he gets lines for missing his grammar, I suppose.” There was something in the tone which was especially offensive to Walter; for it sounded as if Kenrick wanted to show him the cold shoulder before his great friend, the head of the school.
“Oh, that all? Well, my dear fellow, the remedy’s easy; work at it a little harder;” and Somers walked on, humming a tune.
“I wonder what he calls harder,” said Walter, shaking his fist; “when I first came I used to get up quite early in the morning, and learn it till I was half-stupid; I wonder whether he ever did as much?”
“Well, but it’s no good abusing Paton,” said Kenrick; “of course, if you don’t know the lesson, he concludes you haven’t learnt it.”
“Thank you for nothing, Kenrick,” said Walter curtly; “come along, Flip.”
Kenrick was vexed; he was conscious of having shown a little coolness and want of sympathy; and he looked anxiously after Henderson and Walter as they walked away.
Presently he started up, and ran after them. “Don’t be offended, Walter, my boy,” he said, seizing his hand. “I didn’t mean to be cold just now; but, really, I don’t see why you should be so very wrathful with Paton; what can a master do if one fails in a lesson two or three times running? he must punish one, I suppose.”
“Hang Paton,” said Walter, shaking off his hand rather angrily, for he was now thoroughly out of temper.
“O, very well, Evson,” said Kenrick, whose chief fault was an intense pride, which took fire on the least provocation, and which made him take umbrage at the slightest offence; “catch me making an advance to you again. Henderson, you left your book on the grass;” and turning on his heel, he walked slowly away—heavy at heart, for he liked Walter better than any other boy in the school, and was half ashamed to break with him about such a trifle.