“Young prig!” growled Crow, savagely.
“You hear what I say,” said Hawkesbury. “I won’t allow it to go any further. Here, Batchelor, go to your seat, and don’t be absurd.”
This tone of authority and his unasked-for interference irritated me as much as ever the language of my two adversaries had done. Hawkesbury was always getting the pull of me in ways like this.
I retired sulkily to my seat, saying I would thrash any one who insulted Smith in my presence, at which the others sneered.
“All I can say is,” said Wallop, with his hand still up to his face, “if I don’t get that thirty shillings he owes me to-morrow, I’ll show him up in a way that will astonish him—that’s all.”
With which threat he took up his hat and went out, leaving me in a very agitated and uncomfortable frame of mind, as the reader may guess.
I would far sooner have been thrashed out and out by Wallop than be left thus under what Hawkesbury would certainly consider an obligation to him.
“I thought it best,” said he, in his insinuating way, “to interfere. You are really not well enough for that sort of thing, Batchelor.”
During the rest of the day my mind was too uneasy to permit me to make much progress with my work, and I was glad when evening came and I could escape with my friend.
“You look fagged,” said he, as I took his arm.