“No, sir, that we wouldn’t,” chimed in the chorus.
“And who did you think it was, pray?” inquired Mr Parrett.
“A schoolhouse fellow,” replied Parson, avoiding Telson’s glances.
“Which schoolhouse boy?” asked the master.
“Any one, sir. It didn’t matter much which.”
“Indeed. And what has the schoolhouse done to you?” said Mr Parrett, leaning back in his chair and pushing his plate away.
It wasn’t an easy question, but Parson felt something ought to be said.
“Some of them are rather cads, sir,” he said.
(“Parson,” whispered Telson. “I’ll fight you when you get outside.”)
“I mean, sir,” said Parson, hurriedly, “that is—(I beg pardon, Telson, old man, I didn’t mean)—they don’t like us, and—”