“No fear! He might pot us now and then for appearances’ sake, but he wouldn’t report us, I guess.”
“And suppose he did,” said Cusack; “the new captain’s as big a muff as all the lot of them put together. He’s afraid to look at a chap. Didn’t you hear what he did to the Parrett’s kids the other day?”
“Yes; didn’t I!” exclaimed Pilbury. “He let them all off, and begged their pardons or something. But I’m jolly glad Parrett was down on them. He’s stopped their river-play, and they won’t be able to show up at the regatta.”
“I’m jolly glad!” said Cusack; “chaps like them deserve to catch it, don’t they, Pil?”
“Rather!” replied Pilbury.
A silence ensued, during which both heroes were doubtless meditating upon the unexampled iniquities of the Parrett juniors.
Presently Pilbury observed somewhat dolefully, “Beastly slow, isn’t it, Cusack?”
“What’s beastly slow?”
“Oh, everything! No fun kicking up a row if there’s no one to pull you up. I’m getting sick of rows.”
Cusack stared at his friend with rather concerned looks. He could not be well, surely, or he would never come out with sentiments like those.