“Why, the fact is, most of the chaps wanted to stand me something when I squared up with them, and Crofter tries to make out I’m a thief, and he’s going to show me up to Tempest.”
“But you didn’t let them?”
“Well, yes, one or two. You see, Marple gave me a pencil-sharpener, and Rammage a strawberry ice, and Ringstead a net-bag and spikes—jolly bad ones too, they all came out in a week.”
“And does Crofter say you swindled him or Tempest?”
“I didn’t think I was swindling anybody,” said I evasively.
“You made a pretty good thing out of it, though.”
“I know. I say, Dicky, what’s to be done? I thought I was going to pull round all square this term—really I did—and now I’m in a regular fix.”
Dicky pondered.
“It was a bit shady,” said he, with his refreshing candour; “the sort of thing Ananias and—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Dicky, if that’s all you’ve got to say—”