“I believe,” said Bosher, “Gilks has a key to Todhunter.”
“He has? Young Telson had better collar it, then,” said King, whose opinions on the laws of property as regarded cribs were lax.
“Bah! What’s the use of bothering?” cried Parson, pouring himself out his eighth cup of tea. “If he pulls me up for not doing the beastly things I shall tell him they’re too hard, straight out.”
“Tell him it’s jolly gross conduct,” cried a voice at the door, followed immediately by Telson, who, contrary to all rules, had slipped across to pay a friendly visit.
He was welcomed with the usual rejoicing, and duly installed at the festive board.
“It’s all right if I am caught,” said he. “Gilks sent me a message to Wibberly, and I just dropped in here on the way. I say, who’s going to lick, you or Welch’s?”
“Welch’s!” exclaimed the company, in general contempt. “It’s like their cheek to challenge us. We mean to give them a lesson.”
“Mind you do,” said Telson, “or it’ll be jolly rough on Parrett’s. No end of a poor show you made at the Rockshire.”
“Look here, Telson,” said Parson, gravely, “suppose we don’t talk about that. We were just wondering if Gilks had got a key to Todhunter somewhere.”
Telson laughed.