This was all very well, but it only took up about six lines out of ten, and he was in despair how to continue. His ideas, his temper, and his Latin had all evaporated. When Clapperton entered, he did not even look up.
“Cut, whoever you are, and hang yourself,” said he.
“Hullo, Percy! What’s the row with you?”
“Don’t talk to me,” said Percy. “It’s that beast Forder.”
“Where are the others? I want to talk to you youngsters.”
“How do I know where every ass in the place is? What do you want?”
The tone in which the inquiry was made was not encouraging.
“It’s about the meeting next week. We don’t mean to attend it.”
“Don’t you? Our lot does. We’re going. Rather.”
“It’s a dodge of the other side. They’re going to get the clubs into their own hands, and we’ve decided none of our fellows shall go. Then they can’t do anything.”