“You can go now,” said the master, when the ceremony was concluded; “good-night, boys.”
“Good-night, sir,” said they, and filed out of the room.
It was some time before Parson and Telson, as they walked slowly back along the passage, could find words suitable to the occasion. Then Telson said, “Well, that was a rum thing of him to do!”
“What did he mean?” asked Parson.
“Goodness knows. But, I say, it’s a jolly soak being stopped the river, though.”
“Yes, and having to get a ‘permit’ when the time is up. I’d sooner not go on than beg a ‘permit’ of the captain.”
“I wonder what he’ll say to us to-morrow,” said Telson. “He won’t lick us, eh?”
“He’d better not,” said Parson. “You and I could lick him easy.”
“I suppose he’ll give us a howling impot. I say I’m getting fagged of impots. I’ve had four this week.”
“I’ve had three,” sighed Telson. “Heigho! Willoughby’s going to the dogs. I’ve a good mind to cut the whole concern.”