“You young muff!” said the elder brother; “I expect the fellow’s swindling you. Find out what he wants for it at once, and pay him; I’m not going to let you run into debt.”
“But I can’t; I’ve only two shillings left,” said Stephen, dejectedly.
“Why, whatever have you done with the five shillings you had last week?”
Stephen blushed, and then faltered, “I spent sixpence on stamps and sixpence on—on brandy-balls!”
“I thought so. And what did you do with the rest?”
“Oh! I—I—that is—I—gave them away.”
“Gave them away! Who to—to Bramble?”
“No,” said Stephen, laughing at the idea; “I gave them to a poor old man!”
“Where?—when? Upon my word, Stephen, you are a jackass—who to?”
And then Stephen confessed, and the elder brother rated him soundly for his folly, till the little fellow felt quite miserable and ashamed of himself. In the end, Oliver insisted on Stephen finding out at once what the price of the bat was, and promised he would lend his brother the money for it. In return for this, Stephen promised to make no more purchases of this kind without first consulting Oliver, and at this juncture Wraysford turned up, and Stephen beat a retreat with his bat over his shoulder.