Dick winced at that word confidence, and he wanted to say frankly that the case belonged to Arthur; but it seemed to him so mean to get out of a scrape by laying the blame upon another; and, besides, he knew how particular his father was about Arthur, and how he would be hurt and annoyed if he knew that his brother smoked.
“I am more angry than I could say,” continued Mr Temple; “and I suppose I ought to take away that case, in which you have been foolish enough to spend your pocket-money; but I will not treat my boys as if I were a schoolmaster confiscating their playthings. Don’t let me see that again.”
“No, father,” said Dick, with a sigh of relief, though he felt very miserable, and in momentary dread lest his father should ask him some pointed question to which he would be bound to reply.
They walked on in silence for some minutes, and the beautiful morning and grand Cornish scenery were losing half their charms, when Mr Temple finished his remarks about the cigar-case with:
“Did you smoke yesterday, Dick?”
“No, father?”
“Were you going to smoke to-day?”
“No, father.”
“Honour, Dick?”
“Honour, father, and I won’t smoke till you tell me I may.”