"Do you know young Morris, of Borcombe?"
He nodded.
"Tommy, I—I wish you would endeavour to avoid him in the future. He is no fit companion for you."
"Why?"
"I—you would not understand yet, Tommy; you must take my word for it."
Tommy looked a little sullen.
"He's a jolly good sort," he said. "I know him well; he's a jolly good sort."
"I am asking you, Tommy,"—I hesitated then. "For your father's sake," I added.
Tommy looked straight into my eyes.