“You are prejudiced, old man,” said Oliver. “But I wish all the same Stephen was to fag for you. It’s a pity, but it can’t be helped.”
“I’ll speak to the captain, anyhow,” growled Wraysford, sitting down to his tea.
All this was not very pleasant for Stephen, who gathered that he was destined to serve a not very desirable personage in the capacity of fag, instead of, as he would have liked, his brother’s friend Wraysford.
However, he did justice to the tea, bad as it was, and the sardines Oliver had brought from Maltby. He was relieved, too, to find that his brother was not greatly exasperated on hearing of the various raids which had been made on his provisions, or greatly disconcerted at Mr Bullinger’s modest request for half a pint of jam.
Then, as the talk fell upon home, and cricket, and other cheerful topics, the small boy gradually forgot his troubles, even down to the Fiji War, and finished up his first evening at Saint Dominic’s in a good deal more cheerful frame of mind than that in which he had begun it.
Chapter Three.
A Morning with a Tadpole.
It so happened that on the day following Stephen Greenfield’s arrival at Saint Dominic’s, the head master, Dr Senior, was absent.