“No, no,” said the artist; “not for a bit.”
It was a slow march home indeed, and later frequent rests had to be indulged in.
“I say,” said Will to Josh, “it’s a pretty holiday, isn’t it! Here, you take these things. Catch hold.”
“All right.”
The march was resumed.
“Drinkwater is a trump,” said Will at last.
“Rather a surly one,” said Josh. “Why can’t he be amiable?”
“I don’t know.”
“Whatever he says has got a sort of a sting in it.”
“Hush! He’ll hear.”