“Oh, it’s nothing—nothing much,” said Wyatt, tugging at his big mustachios. “Your pater ever lick you?”
“Never,” said Dick emphatically. “He was too fond of me.”
“Of course. My father was too fond of me, you know, but he gave me a tremendous thrashing once.”
“Stick?”
“Riding-whip. Hurts more.”
There was a dead silence after these laconic remarks, broken at last by Wyatt drawing a long, deep breath and saying “Ha!”—making it sound twice as long as “Constantinople” uttered very slowly with a comma after each syllable.
Then Dick sighed, and said, “Oh dear!”
“Yes,” said Wyatt, “I was an awful young scamp when I was a boy.”
“Don’t believe it,” said Dick shortly.
Wyatt turned upon him quickly, and sat looking him full in the eyes for a few moments, a pleased expression gathering in his big, manly face.