“What school were you at before?”
“I wasn’t at any—I had lessons at home.”
“A tutor?”
The boy blushed very much, and looked appealingly at Dick, as though to beg him to receive the disclosure he was about to make kindly.
“No—my mother taught me.”
Dick did receive it kindly. That is, he didn’t laugh. He felt sorry for the boy and what was in store for him when the news got abroad. He also felt much less reserved in continuing the conversation.
“Heathcote here and I were at Mountjoy; so we’re pretty well used to kicking about,” said he, patronisingly. “I suppose you didn’t go in for the entrance exam, then?”
“Yes, I did,” said the boy.
“Poor chap,” thought Dick, “fancy a fellow who’s never left his mammy’s apron-strings going in for an exam. How did you get on?” he added, turning to his companion.
“Pretty well, I think,” said the boy shyly.