That somehow seems pointed at you, though addressed to another, for all the other boys look round at you and grin.
“Wouldn’t I?” replies the Tom appealed to. “Only when a chap’s in love, you know, he’s no good at cakes.”
“Cakes!” “in love!” They must be making fun of you; but however do they know so much about you? Listen! “If I had a sister, I’d take care she didn’t go and marry a butter-man, Jack, wouldn’t you?”
It must be meant for you; for you had told Jerry the evening before that your sister was going to marry a provision merchant! Then all of a sudden it flashes upon you. You have been betrayed! The secrets you have whispered in private have become the property of the entire school; and the friend you fancied so genial and sympathising has made your open-hearted frankness the subject of a blackguard jest, and exposed you to all the agony of schoolboy ridicule!
With quivering lips and flushed face, half shame, half anger, you dash beneath the clothes, and wish the floor would open beneath you. When the getting-up bell sounds, you slink into your clothes amid the titters of your companions. It is weeks before you hear the end of your nurse, your pocket money, your sister, and your sweetheart; and for you all the little pleasure of your first term at school has gone.
But what of Jerry? He comes to you in the morning as if nothing had happened, with a “How are you, old fellow?”
You are so indignant you can’t speak; all you are able to do is to glare in scorn and anger.
“Afraid you’re not well,” remarks the sneak; “change of scene, you know. I hope you’ll soon be better.”
Just as he is going you manage, though almost bursting with the effort, to stammer out—“What do you mean by telling tales of me to all the fellows?” He looks perplexed, as if at a loss for your meaning. “Tell tales of you?” says he. “I don’t know what you mean, old chap.”
“Yes, you do. How did they all know all about me this morning, if you hadn’t told them?”