“No, that won’t do,” said Horace. “He doesn’t think so—”
“The fact is, the beggar couldn’t pay for his own dinner, and Blandford had to pay it for him. He managed it very neatly,” said Mr Pillans.
Horace fired up fiercely.
“What do you mean? Who’s this cad you keep about the place, Blandford?”
“If you don’t go I’ll kick you down the stairs!” cried Mr Pillans, by this time in a rage.
Horace laughed. Mr Pillans was his senior in years and his superior in inches, but there was nothing in his unhealthy face to dismay the sturdy school-boy.
“Do you want me to try?” shouted Mr Pillans.
“Not unless you like,” replied Horace, putting the money down on the table and holding out his hand to Blandford.
The latter took it mechanically, too glad to see his visitor departing to offer any obstacle.
“I’ll look you up again some day,” said Horace, “when your bulldog here is chained up. When Reg and Harker are up this Christmas, we must all get a day together. Good-night.”