“What does that child want?” inquired Jim, with all the loftiness of a second-form boy speaking of a first.
“He says Tom Drift wants me.”
“Whew!” whistled Jim, who of course knew the whole mystery of the affair between his chum and Tom; “tell him to go to Jericho! Look out for yourself!”
And so saying, he took his turn with the ball.
“That wouldn’t do,” said Charlie; “I don’t want to rile him.”
“I’d like to have a chance,” retorted the implacable Jim. “Well, then, tell him you can’t come. Here, young un, tell Tom Drift Charlie can’t come. Do you hear? Cut your sticks!”
But Charlie called the messenger back. “I could, go if I wanted, Jim. Better tell him I’d rather not come. Say that, youngster—I’d rather not.”
So off the youngster ran, and Charlie and Jim finished their game. Of coarse, the youthful messenger gave Tom a full, true, and particular account of this conversation in all its details, which rendered that young gentleman rather less eager than ever for his enterprise. However, he had the fear of Gus before his eyes, and strolled out into the playground on the chance of coming across Charlie.
And he did come across him, arm-in-arm with the faithful Jim. Tom worked his face into the ghastly similitude of a friendly smile as he approached, and said, in as genial a voice as he could pretend, “I’m glad I met you, Newcome, because I want to speak to you, if you don’t mind taking a turn round the playground.”
Charlie, of course, was astonished; he had expected at the very least to be kicked over the wall when he saw Tom approach, and he was utterly at a loss to understand this not unfriendly greeting. Innocent boy! it never occurred to him the demonstration could be anything but real. Jim would have been a tougher subject to deal with. Indeed, as he let go Charlie’s arm, and saw him walk off with Tom, he muttered to himself, not caring particularly whether the latter heard him or not.