“Fatty Dicksee. I told him you’d give him another dressing down if he came sneaking about here.”
“And so I will,” cried Tom. “He has never forgiven me, though, for the last. I know he hates me. So does Eely hate you.”
“Let ’em,” I said, as we went on.
“But they’ll serve us out some day if they can.”
“Dinner—dinner!” I cried. “Come on!” and we set off at a trot, for the prospect of hot roast mutton and potatoes just then was of far more consequence to me than my school-fellow’s prophecies of evil.
Chapter Twenty Five.
I thought of my little plan that night when I went to bed, and I had it in my mind when I woke next morning, and laughed over it merrily as I dressed.
It was the merest trifle, but it amused me; and I have often thought since of what big things grow sometimes out of the merest trifles. School-days are often so monotonous that boys jump at little things for their entertainment, and as there was some good-humoured mischief in this which would do no one any harm, only create a laugh, in which Tom Mercer would no doubt join after he had got over the first feeling of vexation, I had no hesitation about putting it in force.