Chapter Thirty Seven.
Staunch Friends.
Time glided on, and it became Gilmore’s turn to leave the rectory. Other pupils came to take the places of the two who had gone, but Macey said the new fellows, did not belong, and could not be expected to cotton to the old inhabitants.
“And I don’t want ’em to,” he said one morning, as he was poring over a book in the rectory study, “for this is a weary world, Weathercock.”
“Eh? What’s the matter?” cried Vane, wonderingly, as he looked across the table at the top of Macey’s head, which was resting against his closed fists, so that the lad’s face was parallel with the table. “Got a headache?”
“Horrid. It’s all ache inside. I don’t believe I’ve got an ounce of brains. I say, it ought to weigh pounds, oughtn’t it?”
“Here, what’s wrong?” said Vane. “Let me help you.”
“Wish you would, but it’s of no good, old fellow. I shall never pass my great-go when I get to college.”