“Please, Riddell,” said he, meekly, “do you mind me writing my lines here?”
“Not a bit,” said Riddell, whose study was always open house to his youthful fag.
Telson said “Thank you,” and immediately deposited himself at the table, and quietly continued his work, awaiting the result of King’s message.
The result was not long in coming.
“Telson!” shouted a voice down the passage in less than five minutes.
Telson went to the door and shouted back, “What’s the row?”
“Where are you?” said the voice.
“Here,” replied Telson, shutting the door and resuming his work.
“Who’s that?” asked Riddell of his fag.
“I don’t know, unless it’s Game,” said Telson.