“Jolly work that must be,” says Harker. “More fun than higher mathematics and Locke on the Understanding, eh, Bland?”
“Perhaps they would be glad to change places with us before they are through with it, though,” observes Blandford.
“Never knew such a beggar for grinding as Bland is turning out,” says Harker. “He takes the shine out of me; and I’m certain he’ll knock me into a cocked hat at the matric..”
“You forget I’ve lost time to make up,” replies Blandford, gravely; “and I’m not going to be content if I don’t take honours.”
“Don’t knock yourself up, that’s all,” says Reginald, “especially now cricket’s beginning. We ought to turn out a good eleven with four old Wilderhams to give it a backbone, eh?”
And at the signal the four chums somehow get together in a corner, and the talk flies off to the old schooldays, and the battles and triumphs of the famous Wilderham Close.
Meanwhile Booms and Miss Crisp whisper very confidentially together in another corner. What they talk about no one can guess. It may be collars, or it may be four-roomed cottages, or it may be only the weather. Whatever it is, Booms’s doleful face relaxes presently into a solemn smile, and Miss Crisp goes over and sits by Mrs Cruden, who puts her arm round the blushing girl and kisses her in a very motherly way on the forehead. It is a curious piece of business altogether, and it is just as well the four young men are too engrossed in football and cricket to notice it, and that Gedge and Waterford find their whole attention occupied by the contents of the little bookcase in the corner to have eyes for anything else.
“Jolly lot of books you’ve got,” says Waterford, when presently the little groups break up and the big circle forms again. “I always think they are such nice furniture in a room, don’t you, Mrs Cruden?”
“Yes, I do,” says Mrs Cruden; “especially when they are all old friends.”
“Some of these seem older friends than others,” says Waterford, pointing to a corner where several unbound tattered works break the ranks of green-cloth gilt-lettered volumes. “Look at this weatherbeaten little fellow, for instance, a bit of a Pilgrim’s Progress. That must be a very poor relation; surely you don’t count him in?”