“Oh, but you’re different, Harker—besides, it isn’t money makes the difference—”
“The thing is,” interposed Horace, “was your father in the wholesale or retail trade?—that’s the difference!”
“I wish you’d shut up, Horace,” said Reginald tartly; “you always spoil any argument with your foolery.”
“Now that’s hard lines,” said Horace, “when I thought I was putting the case beautifully for you. Never mind. What do you say to a bathe in the river, you fellows?”
“Too much fag to get towels,” said Reginald; “but if you like to go for them, and don’t ask us to look at our watches and see in how many seconds you run up to the house and back, we’ll think about it.”
“Thanks,” said Horace, and started up to the house whistling cheerily.
“Awfully hot that brother of yours make? a fellow,” said Blandford, watching him disappear.
“Yes,” said Reginald, yawning, “he is rather flighty, but he’ll turn out all right, I hope.”
“Turn out!” said Harker; “why he’s all right already, from the crown of his head to the sole of his boot.”
“Except,” said Blandford, “for a slight crack in the crown of his head. It’s just as well, perhaps, he’s not the eldest son, Reg.”