“I say,” I panted, for I was breathless still, “did I win?”
“You? No,” he cried savagely. “You can’t fight any more than I can, and the brutes have beaten us both. Here, let’s look at you. Oh, you ain’t much marked, only your nose bleeds a bit. That’s where you ought to have hit him.”
“I did try to,” I said despondently; “but he wouldn’t let me.”
“Never mind, put on your things. I say, are my eyes swollen?”
“One of them’s puffed up a bit, and your lip’s cut like mine is.”
“Never mind. Come and have a wash.”
“Shan’t you lock up your museum?”
“Not now. I don’t care for it after what they’ve done. Yes, I do; I’ll come up afterwards,” he continued, rapidly replacing the pot of preserving paste. “Come along, and try and look as if nothing was the matter.”
I followed him as soon as we had put on our clothes, and then we hurried to the row of basins and towels, barely completing our ablutions when the bell rang, and not looking so very much the worse.
“Never mind, old chap,” whispered Mercer, as we went into the schoolroom to dinner, with the boys all watching us and making remarks; “wait a bit, and we’ll have revenge.”