Greatly to his disgust, Oliver said, peremptorily, “You’ll have to walk home, Paul; Stephen will steer.”
“Why, you said I might steer.”
Oliver was in no humour for an argument, so he gave Paul a light box on his ears and advised him to go home quietly unless he wanted a thrashing, and not say a word to any one about what had occurred.
Paul had nothing for it but sulkily to obey, and walk back. At last the others got on board and put off homeward.
“Now,” said Oliver, presently, resting on his oar and bending forward towards Stephen.
“Oh, Noll!” began that unhappy youngster, “I am so very, very sorry! it was all—”
“None of that,” angrily interrupted the elder brother. “Just tell me how it came about.”
Stephen, quite cowed by his brother’s angry manner, told his story shortly and hurriedly.
“Why,” he said, “you know I promised you never to go to the Cockchafer again, and I didn’t, but I thought I ought to see Cripps and give him back the bicycle-lamp.”
“Young muff!” ejaculated his brother.