“Well, you know, little boys always have to shift for themselves when they go to a great school—”
“But why, if they have brothers there? That is the very thing I want to know. I think it is very cruel.”
“I never meant to be cruel, of course. But—but—the boys were all ready to laugh at me about a little brother that was scarcely any better than a girl;—and consider how you talked on the coach, and what ridiculous hair you had,—and what a fuss you made about your money and your pocket,—and how you kept popping out things about Miss Harold, and the girls, and Susan.”
“You were ashamed of me, then.”
“Well, what wonder if I was?”
“And you never told me about all these things. You let me learn them all without any warning, or any help.”
“To be sure. That is the way all boys have to get on. They must make their own way.”
“If ever little Harry comes to Crofton,” said Hugh, more to himself than to Phil, “I will not leave him in the lurch,—I will never be ashamed of him. Pray,” said he, turning quickly to Phil, “are you ashamed of me still?”
“Oh, no,” protested Phil. “You can shift for yourself,—you can play, and do everything like other boys, now. You—”
He stopped short, overcome with the sudden recollection that Hugh would never again be able to play like other boys,—to be like them in strength, and in shifting for himself.