“Chiefly for leaving my books about. Meredith says I promised to pay him before the holidays; but I am sure I never did. He twitted me about it, so that I declare I would have fought him, if I could have paid him first.”
“That’s right,” exclaimed Hugh. “Why, Holt, what a different fellow you are! You never used to talk of fighting.”
“But this fellow Meredith plagued me so! If it had not been for that shilling, I would have knocked him down. Well, here is half-a-crown altogether; and how am I ever to get half-a-crown?”
“Cannot you ask your uncle?”
“No; you know I can’t. You know he complains about having to pay the bills for me before my father can send the money from India.”
“I suppose it would take too long to ask your father. Yes; of course it would. There would be another holidays before you could have an answer; and almost another still. I wonder what uncle Shaw would say. He is very kind always, but it might set him asking—”
“And what should I do, staying here, if he should be angry and refuse? What should I do every day at dinner?”
“I know what I would do?” said Hugh, decidedly. “I would tell Mr Tooke all about it, and ask him for half-a-crown.”
“Mr Tooke? Oh! I dare not.”
“I dare,—in holiday-time. He is your master,—next to being your father, while your father is so far away. You had better ask Mr Tooke, to be sure.”