Naylor was a small boy, with rather a deep voice. He wore a spotless turn-down collar, his hair was carefully brushed, and he evidently had on his "company manners," which seemed to fit him rather badly, like ready-made clothes. He spoke to Brian in quite a deferential manner, calling him Seaton, and he was evidently shy of Elsie and Ida.
"Hullo, Nails, old chap!" cried Guy, seizing hold of his guest, rumpling his hair, and giving him a slap on the back which made him stagger. "Have you come prepared for a good feed?"
"Shut up, Ormond," murmured the unfortunate Naylor, glancing in the direction of the girls, and flushing crimson. "Why can't you leave a fellow alone?"
"You look so jolly tidy," laughed Guy.—"He's usually all over ink—isn't he Brian?—and goes about with only the lining of a cap on his head."
"It got torn," explained Naylor, in an apologetic tone. "But I only wear it in the playground. I've got a better one."
"I'm sure you needn't talk, Guy," put in Ida. "You're untidy enough. I don't know what state your clothes would get into if you lived away from home."
"Oh, fiddles!" answered her brother. "Have you brought your bicycle lamp, 'Nails'? Yes? That's all right, then! Because if you hadn't I should have sent you back again to fetch it, so it's lucky you remembered. It's for the game we've invented," he continued. "No, I shan't tell you what it is now. I'll explain it after tea."
Brian had left the room, and Guy rushed away to ask him something. Master Naylor, left unceremoniously alone with the two girls, drew a long breath, and nervously twisted his steel watch-chain. No one would have supposed that that very morning he had been sentenced to a term of extra drill for riotous behaviour in the classroom; but "Nails" had inherited the instincts of a gentleman, and he made a heroic attempt to enter into conversation.
"You—er—you know Seaton?" he began.