“But they had no black and whites,” said Dick.
“Stuff and nonsense!” cried Arthur; “they’ve plenty, and you didn’t remember.”
“Now, are you ready?” said Mr Temple.
“Yes, papa; but look here,” began Arthur in a depressing voice.
“I was looking,” said Mr Temple; “I congratulate you upon looking so comfortable and at your ease. Now you can fish, or climb, or do anything. Mind you write home to-night for some things to be sent down. Come away.”
Mr Temple went out of the room, and Dick executed a sort of triumphant war-dance round his brother, who frowned pityingly and stalked to the corner of the room, with his nose in the air, to take up his tasselled, silver-mounted cane.
“No, you don’t,” said Dick, snatching the cane away and putting it back in the corner. “No canes to-day, Dandy Taff, and no gloves. Come along.”
He caught his brother’s arm, thrust his own through, and half dragged, half thrust him out of the place to where his father was waiting.
“Never mind your gloves, Arthur,” said the latter dryly, “or if you particularly wish to keep your hands white, perhaps you had better take care of your face as well, and borrow a parasol.”
Arthur reddened and thrust his gloves back into his pockets, as he followed his father down to the little pier; but he was obliged to raise his straw hat from time to time, and smooth his well pomatumed hair, ignorant of the fact that his every act was watched by his brother, who could not refrain from laughing at the little bits of foppishness he displayed.