Wren was now captain and head monitor at Saint Dominic’s—far too blunt and honest ever to be an object of anything but dislike and uneasiness to Loman. Now the uneasiness was the more prominent of the two. Loman replied, confused and reddening, “Oh, that boy? Why—oh, he’s a shop-boy from the town, come up about an order—you know—for a hat-box.”
“I don’t know. Do you mean Morris’s boy?”
“Ye—yes. A new boy of Morris’s.”
“Well, whoever he is, he’s a precious cheeky specimen. Why didn’t you kick him?”
“Eh? Kick him? Yes, I was just going to,” began Loman, scarcely knowing what he said, “when—”
“When I turned up? Well, I shouldn’t have interfered. By the way, Loman, I suppose you’ve given up going to that public now? What’s the fellow’s name?”
“Cripps,” said Loman. “Oh, I never go near the place now.”
“That’s a good job. It was awkward enough his turning up as he did last term, and all a chance the Doctor didn’t hear of it, I can tell you. Anyhow, now I’m captain, that sort of thing will have to drop, mind.”
“Oh, I assure you I’ve never been near the place since,” said Loman, meekly, anxious if possible to keep the new captain in humour, much as he disliked him.
“I’m glad of it,” said Wren, coldly.