“Yes, do, there’s a good fellow,” cried Glyn, catching the other by the arm.
“Well, he said he should be proud to see me grow up such a boy as you are, and that my father wished me to take you for an example, for he wanted me to become thoroughly English—oh, and a lot more like that.”
Glyn Severn was silent, and soon after, as the two boys turned, they saw a group of their schoolfellows coming down the field laden with bats and stumps, while one carried a couple of iron-shod stakes round which was rolled a stout piece of netting.
“Here,” said Glyn suddenly, “let’s go round the other side of the field. Old Slegge’s along with them, and he’ll be getting up a quarrel again. I don’t want to fight; but if he keeps on aggravating like he did this morning I suppose I shall have to.”
“But if we go now,” said Singh, “it will look as if we are frightened. We seemed to run away before, only you made me come.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter what seems,” cried Severn irritably. “We know we are not frightened, and that’s enough. Come on.”
The two boys began to move slowly away; but they had not gone far before Slegge shouted after them, “Hi, you, sirs! I want you to come and field.”
“Then want will be your master,” said Severn between his teeth.—“Come on, Singh. Don’t look round. Let’s pretend we can’t hear.”
They walked steadily on for a few paces, Severn making-believe to be talking earnestly to his companion, when:
“Do you hear, there, you, sirs? Come here directly. I want you to field!”