Distin stared at him haughtily.
“Really,” he said in rather a drawling manner, “I am at a loss to understand what you mean by addressing me like this, sir.”
“Oh, I say, Distie, don’t take that queer tone to a fellow,” cried Vane, who could not help feeling nettled. “Here, shake hands—there’s a good fellow.”
He held out his own once more for the other to take, but Distin ignored it, and half turning away he said:—
“Have the goodness to address me next time when I have spoken to you. I came down here to read with Mr Syme, and I shall go on doing so, but I presume it is open to me to choose whom I please for my associates, and I shall select gentlemen.”
“Well,” said Vane, shortly, “my father was a gentleman; and do you mean to insinuate that my uncle and aunt are not a gentleman and lady?”
“I refuse to discuss matters with every working-class sort of boy I am forced to encounter,” said Distin, haughtily. “Have the goodness to keep yourself to yourself, and to associate with people of your own class. Good-evening.”
“Have the goodness to associate with people of your own class!” said Vane, unconsciously repeating his fellow-pupil’s words. “I don’t like fighting, but, oh, how he did make my fingers itch to give him one good solid punch in the head.”
Vane stood looking at the retiring figure thoroughly nettled now.
“Ugh!” he exclaimed, “what a nasty mean temper to have. It isn’t manly. It’s like a spiteful boarding-school girl. Well, I’m not going down on my knees to him. I can get on without Distin if he can get on without me. But it is so petty and mean to go on about one liking to do a bit of mechanical work. One can read classics and stick to one’s mathematics all the same, and if I can’t write a better paper than he can it’s a queer thing.”