“To the Doctor’s? Oh no, no!”
“Be quiet, I tell you, and wipe your eyes and blow your nose. You don’t want everybody to see?”
“No, no.—Thank you!—No,” cried the big fellow hurriedly. “I couldn’t help it. I am not well. I must go to my room and have a wash before the breakfast-bell rings. May I go now?”
“No; you will be all right. The fellows won’t see. I only want you to come over here to where Burton is. No, there he goes! I’ll call him here. There, don’t show that we have been quarrelling.—Hi! Burton!” cried Glyn, stepping to the garden-hedge and shouting loudly, with the effect that as soon as the little fellow realised who called he came bounding towards him, but every now and then with a slight limp.
“Just a quiet word or two that you are sorry you hurt him; and I want you to show it afterwards—not in words.”
“You want me, Severn?” cried the little fellow, looking from one to the other wonderingly as soon as he realised that his friend was not alone.
“Yes. Slegge and I have been talking about you. He wants to say a word or two to you about hurting you the other day.”
The little fellow glanced more wonderingly than ever at his big enemy.
“Does he?” he said dubiously, and he turned his eyes from one to the other again.
“Oh yes,” said Slegge, with rather a pitiful attempt to speak in a jocular tone, which he could not continue to the end. “I am precious sorry I kicked you so hard. But you’ll forgive me and shake hands—won’t you, Burton?”