Wilson came presently, but his face was glum and his manner frigid.
“Oh, here you are, old chap; I’m peckish. Did you hear about the match, we—”
“Shut up,” said Wilson; “you’re a cad. I don’t want to talk to you.”
Corder put down his knife and fork, and looked up in amazement. This from Wilson! He knew Clapperton was sore about it, but Wilson—
He went on eating while thinking it out, and Wilson ate too in silence, and then rose to go.
“Are you not going to prepare to-night?”
“Yes, in Dangle’s room.”
And Corder was left alone.
This was too bad of Wilson—to-night of all nights. He would go and look up Selby. Selby, he knew, would be interested in the day’s news, for had they not practised drop-kicks together for an hour a day all this term?
Selby was in, but not at all glad to see him.