He didn’t see why he was to be ordered about and sent jobs for the other boys, just at a time, too, when he was enjoying himself. However, it couldn’t be helped.
Three or four fellows stopped him as he walked with the letter in his hand to the gates.
“Oh, are you going to the post? Look here, young ’un, just call in at Splicer’s about my bat, will you? thanks awfully!” said one.
Another wanted him to buy a sixpenny novel at the library; a third commissioned him to invest threepence in “mixed sweets, chiefly peppermint;” and a fourth to call at Grounding, the naturalist’s, with a dead white mouse which the owner wanted stuffed.
After this, Stephen—already becoming a little more knowing—stuffed the letter in his pocket, and took care, if ever he passed any one, not to look as if he was going anywhere, for fear of being entrusted with a further mission.
He discharged all his errands to the best of his ability, including that relating to the dead mouse, which he had great difficulty in rescuing from the clutches of a hungry dog on the way down, and then returned with Paul’s raisins in one pocket, the mixed sweets in another, the book in another, and the other boy’s bat over his shoulder.
Paul was awaiting him at the gate of Saint Dominic’s.
“Got them?” he shouted out, when Stephen was still twenty yards off.
Stephen nodded.
“How much?” inquired Paul.