“Beastly soak it was,” said Raggles that afternoon, to Dick, who, acting on parental orders, had abstained with the “Firm” from visiting the Court. “They say there’s some idiot come all the way from London to stop the case. I’d like to kick him. What business has he to come and spoil our fun?”
“Look here!” said Dick, with a sudden warmth which quite took away the breath of Master Raggles. “Shut up, and hold your row, unless you want to be chucked out of the Quad.”
“What on earth is the row with you?” asked the astounded Raggles.
“Never you mind. Hook it!” retorted Dick.
Raggles departed, not quite sure whether Dick had not had too much “swipes” for dinner, or whether his run after the Harriers yesterday had not been too much for his wits.
Dick felt rather blue that afternoon as he watched the train which carried his father steam out of Templeton station.
He had somehow expected that this visit would settle everything. But instead of doing that, Mr Richardson had left Templeton almost as anxious as when he entered it. Dick couldn’t make it out, and he returned rather dismally to Templeton.
Here, however, he had plenty to distract his attention. The fame of the “Firm’s” exploit on the previous day was still a nine days’ wonder in the Den, and he might, had he been so inclined, have spent the afternoon in discoursing to an admiring audience of his achievement. But he was not so minded. He was more in the humour for a football scrimmage, and as to-day was the first practice day of the season, he strolled off to the fields, and relieved his feelings and recovered his spirits in an hour’s energetic onslaught on the long-suffering ball.
Rather to his surprise, Georgie did not join him in this occupation. That young gentleman, to tell the truth, was very particularly engaged elsewhere.
His proceedings during the last few days had not been unnoticed by his old patron, Pledge.