“I’m Fisher minor; I got under the table, somehow.”
“So I should suppose. Afraid of the draughts, I suppose.”
“It was Wally and his brother put me there. I didn’t mean—”
“Oh—Wally, was it? Here, young Wheatfield, you shouldn’t leave your property about like this. It’s against rules. Here, hook on, and don’t go chucking it about any more.”
“All serene,” said the twin. “Come along, kid. Done with my comb? You look ever so much better form now; doesn’t he, you chaps? How came you to lose your way downstairs?”
Fisher minor owned himself utterly unable to account for the misadventure, and discreetly remained silent until the signal was given to return thanks and separate every boy to his own house.
As he was wandering across the court, very dismal and apprehensive of what more was in store for him, a lean youth with a pale face and very showily attired accosted him.
“Hullo, kid, are you a new chap?”
“Yes,” replied Fisher minor, eyeing the stranger suspiciously.
“What side are you on?”