"Very," answered Harry, who, fired by Plunger's enthusiasm, began to share his longing.
It should be mentioned that Plunger's attitude towards Harry had changed since the night when Newall had been feathered in mistake for Baldry.
To use the phrase of the Third—"Moncrief minor had scored," and Plunger never respected anybody till they had succeeded in scoring over him—in other words, beaten him at his own game. Since then he had begun to tolerate Harry, and receive him on something like a footing of equality.
"Those fellows," went on Plunger, nodding his head in the direction of the workmen on the raft, "are so beastly selfish."
"How, Freddy?"
"Well, I tried to get on that raft when it was lying idle the other day; but they commenced shouting at me like mad. I wasn't doing any harm."
"Of course not."
"If they'd been using it, it'd have been a different thing; but they weren't. So why couldn't they have let me cross the river on it—eh?"
"I don't see why. They ought to have been glad to. They didn't know the honour they were losing. Now, if you'd only have told 'em who you were——"
"Shut up!" cried Plunger, pinching Harry's arm. "But, I say, couldn't we just have some lovely games, if we only had a raft like that?"