“What’s up now?” said Wally, as he read it. “Like Clapperton’s cheek to go sticking his name under our man’s—and old Bingham, too! What right has he to stick his nose in it?—and, ha, ha, Porter! that’s the green idiot in specs, who calls himself captain of Wilbraham’s! Well, I never!”
“Shall you go?” asked D’Arcy.
“Rather! Wonder what they’re up to, though?”
“Perhaps Rollitt’s found, and they’re going to trot him out.”
“Perhaps they’re going to have an eight-handed mill, those four—you know—like what we had.”
“I know, when you rammed me below the belt,” said Cottle.
“Crams. You know I played on your third waistcoat button. I was never below it once.”
“Perhaps Yorke’s going to give a lecture on the ascent of Hawk’s Pike.”
“I know what it is. They’re going to give the chaps back their subscriptions. What a run there’ll be on the shop directly after!”
This last rumour was industriously put about by the juniors, and was believed in a good many quarters.