“I was not knocked down, Gus, I tell you; and you’d better shut up!”
“All right, old horse! you mustn’t mind a bit of chaff. I’m sure you’ve taken it all very well.”
“Yes,” said Margetson, “everybody thinks you must take after your mother; you’re such a sweet-tempered chap.”
“What do you know about my mother?” snarled Tom.
“Only what your young friend tells everybody about her.”
“What business has he to go talking all over the school about my affairs?” exclaimed Tom furiously. “What’s my mother to do with him?”
“A great deal, it seems,” replied Margetson, “for he promised her, on the strength of her assertion that you were a nice boy, to be your friend, and now he’s awfully hurt you won’t let him.”
“I thought it was Tom who was awfully hurt,” put in Gus, by way of parenthesis.
“I tell you what it is, you fellows,” said Tom, “it may be all very funny for you, but I’ve had quite enough of it. Ever since that young canting humbug came here I’ve led the life of a dog. If, instead of making a fool of me, you’d tell me how I can pay him out, I should be better pleased.”
“All very fine,” said Margetson; “why don’t you pay your own bills?”