“Will you hear me out if I tell you a story?” he asked.
“Am I going to like it?” she fenced cautiously. “I am hoping,” he said piously, “to have your forgiveness. It’s a matter of happiness.”
He told her what he had done and how and why he had done it. “The wedding’s to-morrow,” he ended, “and I hope you’ll go.” He told his exploit without arrogance and without extenuation, and it is not to be supposed that Anne was unaware that a nice moralist would have found much in it to criticize, but Sam had come out on top and that, for Anne, almost excused his methods. It almost excused his coming out on top of her.
“I’ll go to the wedding,” she said, “and I’ll forgive them. They are no more than a pair of naturals in the hands of a schemer.” Sam grinned appreciatively. “But I’ll not let you down so easy,” she went on, and the grin faded. “You’re clever, my lad, but you’re a schoolboy, and the place for showing your cleverness is at school. It’s too long since you brought me home a prize, and if you want my forgiveness for letting you rap my knuckles like this, you’ll bring me a prize this Midsummer. Is that a bargain, Sam?”
“I always try,” he said, which was true.
“Try harder,” said Anne Branstone dryly.
CHAPTER V—LAST SCHOOL-DAYS
SAM had not a dog’s chance of winning the form prize of the Classical Fifth, and knew it. He learnt with difficulty, retaining what he learnt; but the process was slow and his form was overshadowed by the brilliance of two boys who learnt easily and rapidly.