“If it makes you ill and wretched, I say it is bad, Percy,” said the girl.
“Oh, I don’t know. Scarfe goes in for it, you know.”
“I don’t care a bit who goes in for it. It’s bad.”
“You don’t mean to say you think Scarfe is a bad lot?”
“Don’t speak to me of Mr Scarfe. I hate him for this!”
Percy whistled.
“Hullo, I say! here’s a go!” he cried. “Then you’re really spoons on Jeff after all? How awfully glad he’ll be when I tell him!”
“Percy I shall hate you if you talk like that!” said the girl. “I hate any one who is not good to you; and it is certainly not good to you to lead you into folly and perhaps wickedness.”
This protest had its effect on Percy. The next day he struck, and pleaded an excuse for accompanying the precious trio on an expedition to Windsor, to be consummated by a champagne supper at the “Christopher.”
They urged him hard, and tempted him sorely by the prospect of a row on the river and any amount of fun. He declined stubbornly. He was fagged, and not in the humour. Awfully sorry to back out and all that, but he couldn’t help it, and wanted to save up for the Sports and Boat Race on Friday and Saturday.