“The idea of Temple’s asking you, Johnny!” he said. “You are of no good in a boat.”
“Perhaps I had better decline?”
“No, don’t do that, Johnny. It might upset the party altogether, perhaps. You must do your best.”
“I have no boating-suit.”
“I will treat you to one,” said Tod, munificently. “We’ll get it at Evesham. Pity but my things would fit you.”
So it was, for he had loads of them.
The Squire, for a wonder, did not oppose the scheme. Mrs. Todhetley (like Lady Whitney) did, in her mild way. As Bill said, all mothers were alike—always foreseeing danger. And though she was not Tod’s true mother, or mine either, she was just as anxious for us; and she looked upon it as nearly certain that one of us would come home drowned and the other with the ague.
“They won’t sleep on the bare ground, of course,” said Duffham, who chanced to call that morning, while Tod was writing his letter of acceptance to Slingsby Temple.
“Of course we shall,” fired Tod, resenting the remark. “What harm could it do us?”
“Give some of you rheumatic-fever,” said Duffham.