“For all that,” meditated he, “it won’t do to get cocked up by it. Father said I was to be on my guard against fellows who flattered me, so I must keep my eyes open, or some one will be trying to make a fool of me. If Cresswell’s a nice fellow, I’ll have a talk with him to-morrow about young Aspinall, and see if we can’t do anything to give him a leg up, poor young beggar. I wonder if I’m an ass to accept the whipping-in so easily? Any how, I suppose I can resign if it’s too much grind. Heigho! I’m sleepy.”
Chapter Six.
How our heroes begin to feel at home.
Heathcote awoke early the next morning with his friend the junior seriously on his mind. One or two fellows were already dressing themselves in flannels as he roused himself, amongst others the young hero who had threatened to fight him the evening before.
“Hallo!” said that young gentleman, in a friendly tone, as if nothing but the most cordial courtesies had passed between them, “coming down to bathe?”
“All serene,” said Heathcote, not, however, without his suspicions. If any one had told him it was a fine morning, he would, in his present state of mind, have suspected the words as part of a deep-laid scheme to fool him. But, he reflected, he had not much to fear from this mock-heroic junior, and as long as he kept him in sight no great harm could happen.
“Come on, then,” said the boy, whose name, by the way, was Gosse; “we shall only just have time to do it before chapel.”
“Wait a second, till I tell Dick. He’d like to come, too,” said Heathcote.