Fairbairn, Coates, Porter, and Crossfield are there, and Bloomfield and Riddell, and the two Wyndhams, and assuredly a cheerier party never sat down in Willoughby.
“I never expected to find you a Welcher,” says old Wyndham to the captain.
“No? A fellow’s sure to find his level, you see, some day,” replied Riddell, laughing.
“Yes, but the thing is, Welch’s is coming up to his level,” says Bloomfield, “instead of his going down to Welch’s.”
“I should say,” says young Wyndham, blushing a little to hear his own voice before this imposing assembly, “all Willoughby’s coming up to his level!”
“The young ’un’s right, though he is a Limpet,” says Crossfield. “I had my doubts of old Riddell once, but I’ve more doubts about myself than him now.”
“You know, Wynd.,” says Porter, “we’re such a happy family, I shouldn’t wonder if I forget before long what house I belong to.”
“I’ll see you’re reminded of that, my boy, before the house football matches next term,” says Fairbairn, laughing.
“Yes,” says the old captain, “you’ll be a poor show if you don’t stick up for your own house.”
“Well, I don’t know,” says Porter, “we’ve had such a lot of sticking up for our own houses this term, that I’m rather sick of it.”