“No, you oughtn’t, and you wouldn’t have been such a sneak. Besides, it would have been getting poor Mr Morris into trouble, too, for taking me there. Did you want him to lose his place?”
“Well, no,” said Glyn thoughtfully.
“And as to my going to see Professor Barclay and lending him a little money now and then—I mean, giving it—it was my own money, and what’s the good of having money if you don’t do good with it?”
“Well,” said Glyn thoughtfully, “there is something in that,” and the boy seemed yielding to his companion’s attack.
Singh realised this, and pressed it home.
“I am sure it was doing more good with my allowance than you do with yours, always stuffing yourself with fruit and sweets and things.”
“That I am not!” cried Glyn indignantly.
“Yes, you are. Why, you have got quite half of that big three-shilling cake in your box now.”
“Oh, but that was to eat of a night when we came to bed and felt as if we ought to have a little more supper.”
“Oh, bother!” cried Singh angrily. “What shall I do. Here, I know. I shall go.”