“Well, leave it till June—no matter. But you may as well have the use of the bat now. Good-day, Master Green—”
“Greenfield, Stephen Greenfield,” said Stephen.
“Good-day, and give my respects to Mr Loman, and I hope I shall see you both again.”
Stephen hoped so too, and went off, highly elated, with Loman’s rod under his arm.
Loman pulled rather a long face at hearing the price, and pulled a still longer face when Stephen told him about the bat. He read his fag a long lecture about getting into debt and pledging his pocket-money in advance.
That evening Stephen was solemnly tossed up for by the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles. “Heads, Guinea-pigs; tails, Tadpoles.” It turned up heads, and from that time forward Greenfield junior was a Guinea-pig.