“What are you up to to-morrow?” asked the elder Halliday of his fag on the Friday evening.
“Fishing,” briskly replied the boy.
“You’re for ever fishing,” said Joe. “I suppose that young brother of mine is going with you?”
“No; Jim’s going to play in the match against the Badgers.”
The “Badgers,” let me explain, was the name of a scratch cricket eleven made up of boys in the first, second and third forms.
“Are you going alone, then?”
Charlie felt uncomfortable as he answered,—
“No.”
“Whom are you going with?” pursued the inquiring Joe.
“A fellow in the fifth who asked me to come.”