The result of this conversation was, that instead of practising for the Quarter-mile that afternoon I went down town with a bag, and expended five shillings of my term’s pocket-money in the purchase of a pencil-sharpener, a strawberry ice, a net-bag, and a set of patent screw spikes.
Dicky, like a brick, undertook to convey these to Tempest, with the following letter, which I wrote at his suggestion.
“Dear Tempest,—I send you back the change I got out of the bills I got last term. I’m sorrier than I can say, and hope you won’t hate me more than you do. Dicky will tell you how jolly blue I am, and how we all hope you’ll win the Mile. We aren’t backing up Crofter, and hope you’ll soon be captain again. Please excuse me writing, but I don’t like to come and tell you this, as you’re so down on me.
“Yours truly,—
“T. Jones iv.”
I also penned a further letter for Crofter:—
“Dear Crofter,—You needn’t mind telling Tempest, as I’ve done so and paid him back. With thanks all the same,—
“Yours truly,—
“T.J. iv.”
I felt vastly easier in my mind when this polite letter was at an end, and when I saw the faithful Dicky depart to execute his brotherly mission. My one fear was lest the strawberry ice should get warm before it reached its destination.