“Why, with the Club. They elected you by a close shave, and expected you’d come in. I yelled all over the place for you, and couldn’t find you. So they thought you’d skulked, and were nearly going to take Culver after all, when I promised to find you, and bring you. They’re waiting for you now.”
“Awfully sorry, Braider,” said Dick, in an embarrassed way. “I can’t come.”
“Can’t come, you ass! What do you mean?”
This was just what Dick wanted. As long as Braider was civil, Dick had to be rational, but as soon as Braider began to threaten, Dick could let out a bit, and relieve his feelings.
“Look here! who are you calling an ass?” said he, starting up.
Fortunately for the peace, Cresswell at that moment entered the study.
“Hallo!” said he, looking round, “make yourselves at home in my study, youngsters. Can’t you ask a few friends in as well? What’s the row?”
“Braider’s the row,” said Dick; “I want him to cut, and he won’t. He wants me to—”
“All right,” said Braider, in sudden concern, lest the secret of the “Sociables” was to be divulged, “I’ll cut. And don’t you forget, young Richardson, what you’ve promised.”
“Of course I shan’t,” said Dick.