Sir Digby was scarcely less elevated; for he had won the Shell History prize by a deal of tremendous hard work. And as he had never done such a thing in his life before, he scarcely knew what to make of it.
Fellows told him there must have been an awful shady lot in against him; but that didn’t satisfactorily explain the great mystery. Railsford told him it was the reward of downright work; and he inclined to think such was the case himself.
Arthur of course gibed at the idea.
“All gammon,” said he. “It’s a lucky fluke for you, and I’m glad for your mater’s sake. But I wouldn’t say too much about it if I were you. It’ll make the fellows grin.”
“Why should they grin at me any more than you?”
“Well, you see, I was in the running for the Swift. They put it down to me last term, so I was bound to pull it off.”
“You only pulled off half of it, you know,” said Dig.
Arthur looked not quite pleased at this reference, but laughed it off.
“Oh, of course, I can’t object to go halves with young Smythe. If I’d known he was quite so hot on it, I might have spurted a bit more. But I’m glad I didn’t, poor young beggar. He’d have been precious cut up to miss it.”
“What about that boat on the river?” asked Dig, who did not swallow the whole of this. “Are you going to buy the front or back half of it?”