“I was twenty-first out of thirty-six,” said Dick, “and Heathcote here was fifteenth—where were you?”
Again the boy made a mute appeal for toleration, as he replied, “I was first.”
Dick put down his cup, and stared at him.
“Go on!” said he.
“It was down on the list so,” said the boy with an apologetic air. “They sent one with the names printed.”
Dick made a desperate onslaught on the bread-and-butter, regarding his neighbour out of the corners of his eyes from time to time, quite at a loss to make him out.
“How old are you?” he demanded presently.
“Thirteen.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bertie Aspinall.”