“I say,” said he, “isn’t this dinner charged in the house bill then?”
D’Arcy laughed derisively.
“Well, you most be a muff. Don’t you know school doesn’t begin till to-morrow? They give you dinner to-night, but you’re not obliged to eat it.”
The new boy took a gulp of water, which he calculated would be gratis under any circumstances, and then gasped—“I say, I didn’t know that.”
D’Arcy looked solemn. “Jolly awkward,” said he; “what have you had?”
Whereupon Master Ashby, the new boy, entered on a detailed confession, which D’Arcy, evidently an expert at mental arithmetic, “totted up” as he went along.
“How many times pudding did you say?” he asked towards the end, “Twice and a bit.”
“Three and ten; I dare say he won’t be stiff about the bit, three and ten; and that roll and butter—”
“I’ve not eaten them.”
“No, but you’ve touched them. You’ll be charged, unless you can get a fellow to take them off your hands.”