The boy nodded his head.
“I am that. I can throw a cricket ball from here to the church. I can wrestle anyone. Box, too.”
He didn’t say this boastfully, but quite calmly, stating well-known facts. Jeremy opened his eyes wide.
“What are you called?” he asked.
“Humphrey Charles Ruthven.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“I don’t go. I was kicked out of Harrow. But it didn’t matter anyway, because my governor couldn’t pay the school bills.”
Expelled! This was exciting indeed.
Jeremy inquired, but his friend would give no reasons—only looked at him curiously and smiled. Then he suddenly went on in another tone: “You know everyone hates us, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know that,” said Jeremy. “Why is it?”