“How do I know? Oh, everybody says so. Let’s drop him.”
“I sha’n’t,” I said, “unless father tells me to Bigley can’t help it.”
“Then you’ll have to drop—I mean I shall drop you,” said Bob haughtily.
“Very well,” I said, feeling very much amused at the pompous tone in which he spoke. Not that I wanted to be bad friends with Bob Chowne; but I knew that he was only in one of his “stickly” fits, as we used to call them, and that it would soon be over.
“Very well, eh?” exclaimed Bob. “Oh, if you choose to prefer his society to mine, Good morning.”
He walked off with his nose in the air, and, half annoyed, half amused, I went over the hill to the mine, where my father was busily examining some specimens of the lead that had been cut off the corners of some newly-cast ingots.
“Well, Sep,” he said. “Coming to help?”
I replied that I was, somewhat unwillingly, for I had caught sight of Bigley coming up the valley, and I wanted to join him, and try and show that I did not intend to give up an old school friend because his father’s name was often on people’s lips.
“Who’s that you are looking for?” said my father.
“Only young Uggleston, father,” I said.