“What’s wrong with him? Doesn’t look nearly such a goat as you,” said Phipps, with the refreshing directness of youth.
“He’s got yellow hair,” argued Spencer.
“Why shouldn’t he have?”
“He looks like a sort of young Sunday-school kid.”
“Well, he jolly well isn’t, then, because I happen to know that he’s had scraps with some of the fellows in his house, and simply mopped them.”
“Well, all right, then,” said Spencer reluctantly.
The historic meeting took place outside the school shop at the quarter to eleven interval next morning. Thomas was leaning against the wall, eating a bun. Spencer approached him with half a jam sandwich in his hand. There was an awkward pause.
“Hullo!” said Spencer at last.
“Hullo!” said Thomas.
Spencer finished his sandwich and brushed the crumbs off his trousers. Thomas continued operations on the bun with the concentrated expression of a lunching python.
“I believe your people know my people,” said Spencer.
“We have some awfully swell friends,” said Thomas. Spencer chewed this thoughtfully awhile.
“Beastly cheek,” he said at last.
“Sorry,” said Thomas, not looking it.
Spencer produced a bag of gelatines.
“Have one?” he asked.
“What’s wrong with ‘em?”
“All right, don’t.”
He selected a gelatine and consumed it.
“Ever had your head smacked?” he inquired courteously.
A slightly strained look came into Thomas’s blue eyes.
“Not often,” he replied politely. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Spencer. “I was only wondering.”
“Oh?”
“Look here,” said Spencer, “my mater told me to look after you.”
“Well, you can look after me now if you want to, because I’m going.”
And Thomas dissolved the meeting by walking off in the direction of the junior block.
“That kid,” said Spencer to his immortal soul, “wants his head smacked, badly.”
At lunch Phipps had questions to ask.
“Saw you talking to Shearne in the interval,” he said. “What were you talking about?”
“Oh, nothing in particular.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Little idiot.”
“Ask him to tea this afternoon?”
“No.”
“You must. Dash it all, you must do something for him. You’ve had ten bob out of his people.”
Spencer made no reply.
Going to the school shop that afternoon, he found Thomas seated there with Phipps, behind a pot of tea. As a rule, he and Phipps tea’d together, and he resented this desertion.
“Come on,” said Phipps. “We were waiting for you.”
“Pining away,” added Thomas unnecessarily.
Spencer frowned austerely.
“Come and look after me,” urged Thomas.
Spencer sat down in silence. For a minute no sound could be heard but the champing of Thomas’s jaws as he dealt with a slab of gingerbread.
“Buck up,” said Phipps uneasily.
“Give me,” said Thomas, “just one loving look.”
Spencer ignored the request. The silence became tense once more.
