“I beg your pardon,” said I, rubbing my poor shin. “I couldn’t help—”
“Yes, you could, you young cad!” cried he, kicking again.
“No, I couldn’t, and—oh! I say, stop kicking, please!”
By this time most of the company had gathered round, some calling on the youth to “let me have it” others encouraging me “to go in and win.” I felt very greatly tempted, especially after the receipt of the third kick, to act on the suggestion given, and might have done so, had not Mrs Nash at that moment entered the room with the supper.
This interruption created a new diversion.
“I say, Mrs Nash,” cried my adversary, “who’s this kid? We don’t want him here.”
“You’ll have to have him whether you want him or not,” replied Mrs Nash, in her usual gracious way. “He’s a lodger here.”
“What do you want to shove another lodger in for when you know we’re chock-full?” demanded the youth.
“You hold your tongue, Mr Jackanapes,” replied Mrs Nash.
“I say, don’t you be so familiar,” cried the young gentleman, greatly offended. “My name’s Horncastle, not Jackanapes.”