“And he’s not a convict.”
“But Gooseberry Green says his father is, and that he was sent over to Botany Bay, and that’s what makes poor old Braydon so mad.”
“His father and mother are both out there somewhere, because Nic told me so, and he says he’s going out there some day; but his father can’t be a convict, or else he wouldn’t be at a good school like this. It’s all Green’s disagreeableness.”
“I’m jolly glad he has got a licking,” said the other, “though I seconded him; but I wish he hadn’t spoiled our afternoon. If Nic Braydon would come too, I’d go and get into the Hurst. The doctor won’t be back for two hours safe, and he’s sure not to send for us till eight o’clock. Let’s get him to come.”
“Well, you ask him.”
The boy hurried on and overtook the adversaries.
“Here, Nic Braydon, let him go on by himself. We’re going to finish the afternoon together. We don’t see any fun in going back yet.”
Nic turned his face to his companion, who burst out laughing—a laugh in which he was joined by the others as they came up, Tomlins being the most facetious.
“I say, look at his open eye,” cried the little fellow, “and the crack on his lip. I say, don’t laugh, Nic; it’ll hurt. Don’t he look like enjoying himself!”
“Be quiet, Tomlins!” cried Nic’s second.