"It is, Cave, and if you could lend me a fiver I'd promise to pay you back before the end of the term."
The calm speech was so extraordinarily calm, the tone so matter-of-fact and every-day, that after a second's amazement the Old Boy could only assume that Jan's splitting head had already affected the mind within. That charitable construction did not prevent Charles Cave from refusing the monstrous request with equal coolness and promptitude; and an utterly unabashed reception of the rebuff only confirmed his conclusion.
"After all, why should you?" asked Jan, with a strange chuckle. "But I shall have to raise it somewhere, and I daresay you won't tell anybody that I tried you first."
And before there could be any answer to that, Jan had turned without ceremony into Heath's, the saddler's shop, where the boys bespoke flies to take them to their trains at the end of the term. As a rule these orders were booked weeks beforehand, but the fly that Jan now ordered was to be outside Mr. Heriot's quad at 2.45 that afternoon.
"Is it to go to Molton, sir?"
"That's it."
"But there's no train before the 4.10, Mr. Rutter."
"I can't help that. I was asked to order it for some people who're down for the match. They may be going to see some of the sights of the country first."
Outside the shop, he found Evan waiting for him.
"I say, Jan, what's all this about your being seedy?"
"That's my business. Do you think I'm shamming?" Evan missed the twinkle again. There was some excuse for him. It was unintentional now.
