This important epistle accomplished, he shouted for his fag to come and convey it to its destination.
It was not till after several calls, on an increasing scale of peremptoriness, that Master Percy condescended to appear. When he did, he was covered with dust from head to foot, and his face, what could be seen of it, was visibly lopsided.
“Why don’t you come when you’re called? Whatever have you been up to—fighting?”
“Rather not,” said Percy, “only boxing. You see, it was this way; Cottle brought a pair of gloves up this term, and young Lickford had an old pair; so we three and Ramshaw have been having an eight-handed mill. It was rather jolly; only Ramshaw and Lickford had the old gloves on, and they’ve all the horse-hair out, so Cottle and I got it rather hot on the face. But we took it out of them with our body blows—above the belt, you know—not awfully above. I couldn’t come when you called, because we were wrestling out one of the rounds. It’s harder work an eight-handed wrestle than four hands. Just when you called first, I nearly had Cottle and Lickford down, but you put me off my trip, and Ramshaw had me over instead.”
“All very interesting,” said Clapperton, “but you’ll have to come sharp next time or I shall trip you up myself. Take this note over to Yorke. Stop while he reads it, and if there’s any answer, bring it; if not, don’t wait.”
“Can’t Cash take it? We’re not nearly finished.”
“No. Cut off, sharp!”
“Awful shame!” growled the messenger to himself, as he departed. “I hate Clapperton; he always waits till I’m enjoying myself, and then routs me out. I shan’t stand it much longer. What does he want with Yorke! Perhaps it’s a challenge. Yes, by the way, very good chance! I’ll see what that cad Wally’s got to say about those kids I found in his room yesterday. Nice old games he gets up to; Wally’s all very well when he’s asleep, or grubbing, or doing impositions, but he’s a sight too artful out of school, like all those Classic kids. One’s as bad as another.”
As if to emphasise this sentiment, a Classic kid at that moment came violently into collision with Master Percy’s waistcoat.
It was Fisher minor, who had once more caught sight in the distance of the mysterious borrower of his half-crown, and was giving chase.