“Looks like it,” was Joe’s reply.
It was not very long before Charlie learned that the four-footed beast thus vaguely referred to was a polite term which the big boys at Randlebury used to designate their fags.
“Come in here,” said his conductor, turning in at a small door.
Charlie found himself inside a small apartment, measuring about ten feet square, lighted by a small window, warmed by a small fire, decorated with a small bookcase, and furnished with a small table, two small chairs, and a small cupboard.
“This is my den; and mind when you clean the window you don’t crack that pane more than it is; and when you brush my things, you know, see the shelf isn’t dirty, because I sometimes keep my worms there—do you hear? And now come along to bed; they put out lights at half-past nine.”
The mention of the time recalled me instinctively to Charlie’s thoughts. He could not resist the temptation, suggested half by anxiety and half by vanity, of taking me out and looking at me.
“Hullo! What, have you got a watch?”
“Yes,” said Charlie meekly, not exactly knowing whether his companion would be admiring or indignant with him.
“More than I have,” was all Joe’s rejoinder.
Charlie’s generosity was at once touched.