“Snug little crib you’ve got—not quite so jolly, though, as the old study you and Reg had at Wilderham. How’s Harker, by the way?”
And he proceeded to stroll across the room to look at a picture.
Blandford and Pillans exchanged glances. Wrath was in the face of the one, bewilderment in the face of the other.
“Who’s your friend?” whispered the latter.
“An old schoolfellow who—”
“Nice lot of fellows you seem to have been brought up with, upon my word,” said Mr Pillans.
“I suppose he’ll be up for Christmas,” pursued Horace. “Jolly glad I shall be to see him, too. I say, why don’t you come and look us up? The mater would be awfully glad, though we’ve not very showy quarters to ask you to. Ah! that’s one of the prints you had in the study at school. Do you remember Reg chipping that corner of the frame with a singlestick?”
“Excuse me, Cruden,” began Blandford, in a severe tone; “my friend and I are just expecting company.”
“Are you? Well, I couldn’t have stayed if you’d asked me. Are any of the old school lot coming?”
“The fact is, we can do without you, young fellow,” said Mr Pillans.