“Well, there was that boy they call—”
“Stop,” said Fisher major, turning round fiercely in the middle of brushing his hair; “do you mean to say you don’t know that it’s only cads who sneak about one another?”
“But you asked me.”
“Of course I did, and made sure you wouldn’t let out. I hope they’ll give you a few more lively nights, to teach you better.”
The young brother’s lips gave an ominous quiver at this unfeeling speech, and he horrified Fisher major by betraying imminent symptoms of tears.
“Look here, Joey,” said the senior, rather more soothingly, “you’ve made a jolly bad start, and that can’t be helped. The mistake you made is in thinking you know everything, whereas you’re about as green as they make them. Why ever do you pretend not to be? Look at that other new kid—the other one who sang. He’s green too; but, bless you, it’s no crime, and all the fellows take to him because he doesn’t put on side like you. Why, that song you sang—oh, my stars!—what on earth put that rot into your head?”
This finished up poor Fisher minor. The recollection of his performance last night was more than he could stand, and he began to whimper.
“Come, old chap,” said Fisher major, kindly, patting him on the shoulder; “perhaps it’s not all your fault. I suppose I ought to have given you a leg-up, and prevented you making a fool of yourself. You’ll get on right enough if you don’t swagger. And in any case, don’t blubber.”
“I shall never get on here,” said the new boy. “All the fellows are against me. Besides—I didn’t know it was wrong; and—oh, Tom?—I lent a fellow half a crown, and now I’ve nothing to pay for the clubs!”
Fisher major laughed.