“I say,” said the other youth, looking up, “don’t frighten the kid, Booms; you’ll make him run away.”
“I wish I could run away,” said Booms, in an audible soliloquy.
“So you can if you like, you old crocodile. I say, young ’un, have you got a chair?”
Horace had to confess he had not a chair about him.
“That’s a go; we’ve only two here. We shall have to take turns on them. Booms will stand first, won’t you, Booms?”
“Oh, of course,” said Booms, rising and pushing his chair towards Horace.
“Thanks,” said Horace, “but I’d sooner stand, really.”
“No, no,” said Booms, resignedly; “I’m to stand, Waterford says so.”
“Sit down, young ’un,” said Waterford, “and don’t mind him. He won’t say so, but he’s awfully glad to stand up for a bit and stretch his legs. Now, do you see this lot of morning papers—you’ll see a lot of paragraphs marked at the side with a blue pencil. You’ve got to cut them out. Mind you don’t miss any. Sure you understand?”
Horace expressed himself equal to this enormous task, and set to work busily with his scissors.