"He was a friend of father's," he said, quietly.
"Your father thrashed the squire with his own hand; I saw him do it."
Tommy stood very still.
"Why?"
"I—I cannot explain it exactly; you must take my word."
Tommy turned on his heels.
"He's a jolly good sort," he muttered.
"But you must not make him a friend."
Tommy was silent, kicking at the carpet.