“It came to a climax, then, Dick, eh?” said Pratt.
“Franky, old boy, I’m the happiest dog under the sun.”
These fragments of conversation took place at odd times that night; and the next morning, soon after breakfast, Trevor made an excuse to his friends, and started for Tolcarne.
“Gone to get his congé, Flick,” said Vanleigh.
“Poor Trevor! Sorry. Not bad ’fler,” said Sir Felix.
“Bah! every man for himself. But we shall have to clear out after this. We’ll go and stay at Saint Francis, and when the old boy finds we are there, he’ll ask us up to Tolcarne.”
“But seems so shabby to poor Trevor,” said Sir Felix.
“Pooh, nonsense! Every man has his crosses in this way. Let’s get out somewhere, though, so as not to be at hand when the poor beggar comes back; he’ll be in a towering fury. I hope he won’t make an ass of himself, and force a quarrel on me.”