“No, no,” whispered a boy beside him, “chowri.”
“Well, chow-chow, chowri; it’s all the same,” said the big lad impatiently. “Horse-tail to whisk the flies away.—Hi! do you hear?”
“Are you speaking to me?” said the tall, very English-looking lad addressed.
“Of course I am.”
“Well, you might address me by my name.”
“Well, so I did. Thames. No, I remember, Severn! What idiots your people were to give themselves names like that!”
“Well, it’s as good as Slegge anyhow,” said the lad.
There was a little laugh at this, which made the owner of the latter name turn sharply and fiercely upon the nearest boy, who shut his mouth instantly and looked as innocent as a lamb.
“Look here,” said Slegge, turning again to the lad he had addressed, “don’t you be cheeky, sir, or you’ll find yourself walked down behind the tennis-court some morning to have a first breakfast; and you won’t be the first that I have taught his place in this school.”
“Oh,” said the lad quietly, “you mean fighting?”