“A Row.”
“Where are you going, Frank?”
“Don’t know; perhaps as far as Lewby. John Berry said he would be glad to show me round his farm.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Cyril, with a meaning look.
“Well, what do you mean by ‘Oh’?” said Frank, roughly.
“Nothing at all, my dear boy—nothing at all,” said Cyril.
“I never grin like an idiot at you when you are going over to Kilby, do I?”
“Oh, no: not at all. It’s all right, I suppose,” laughed Cyril. “But, I say, hadn’t you better be off amongst the blacks? You have grown rather uncivilised lately.”
“Mind your own business,” growled Frank Mallow. “I say!”
“Well?”