“Did I? Well, I seem to have offended Bates. He doesn’t look as though he thought I was a bit funny.”
“I don’t,” said Dick, stiffly. “Either now or this afternoon.”
“Oh, come, Dick!” protested Stan. “Take a joke, won’t you?”
“Dry up, Stan,” said Blashington. “Bates has a right to feel peeved if he likes to. Look here, Bates, I’m sorry I offended you. When you know me better you’ll understand that I didn’t mean to. Will that do for an apology?”
“I think the whole thing is awfully silly,” replied Dick coldly, “but it’s of no consequence: not enough to talk about.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Stanley said hurriedly: “That’s all right then! You mustn’t mind Blash, Dick: nobody does.”
Blash, whose expression of deep contrition Dick had thought suspiciously emphatic, chuckled. “I thank you, Stan, for them few kind words. Well, now that the entente cordial has been restored, how are you and everything? Have a good summer?”
“Oh, yes, bully. Did you?”
“I had a busy one, anyway. I’ll tell you about it some time. I suppose you’ve heard that Pat isn’t coming back this year?”
“No! Why? What’s the matter?”