Robert surreptitiously wiped the blood from his nose on to his sleeve. As usual he had no handkerchief. A warm, delicious solace flowed over his battered spirit. His heart swelled till it hurt him. It opened wide to the little red-haired boy. If only Francey could see him now—the defender of the oppressed. But he did not dare to think of that. After all, he might cry.
He nodded negligently.
"All right. I don't mind."
"P'r'aps, when he knows you're standing up for me, he'll leave me alone."
"He'd better."
"My name's Rufus—Rufus Cosgrave. You see, I was born like this, and my father thought it would be a good joke. I call it beastly."
"Mine's Robert."
The red-haired boy meditated a little longer. He rubbed his arm against Robert's softly like a young pony.
"I say, let's be friends—shall we?"
Robert gulped and turned his head away.