“Don’t tell crams,” cried the others. “It’s bad enough to be a Radical without trying to deceive us.”
“I’m not trying to deceive you, really I’m not,” protested Bosher.
“I’ll be anything you like. I hate the Radicals. Oh, I say, don’t be cads, you fellows. Let me be a Whig, do!”
“No,” cried the virtuous Parson. “We’ll have no Radical cads on our side.”
“But I’m not a Radical cad,” cried Bosher; “at least not a Radical.”
At that moment King made a sudden grab at a small black book which lay on the mantelpiece.
“Oh, you fellows,” cried he, “here’s a lark. Here’s his diary.”
A mighty Whig cheer followed the discovery, amidst which Bosher’s wild protests and entreaties were quite drowned.
“His diary!” exclaimed Parson. “That’ll show if he’s a Radical or not. Hand it over, King. That’ll show up his jolly gross conduct, eh?”
“No, no!” cried Bosher. “Give it up, you fellows; it’s mine. Don’t be cads, I say; it’s private.” And he made a wild dash for his treasure.