"Oh but, Tom, are you much hurt? I can't bear thinking it was all for me."
"Not a bit of it, don't flatter yourself. We were sure to have had it out sooner or later.
"Well, but you won't go on, will you? You'll promise me you won't go on?"
"Can't tell about that—all depends on the houses. We're in the hands of our countrymen, you know. Must fight for the School-house flag, if so be."
However, the lovers of the science were doomed to disappointment this time. Directly after lockingup, one of the night fags knocked at Tom's door.
"Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth-form room."
Up went Tom to the summons, and found the magnates sitting at their supper.
"Well, Brown," said young Brooke, nodding to him, "how do you feel?"
"Oh, very well, thank you, only I've sprained my thumb, I think."
"Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn't the worst of it, I could see. Where did you learn that throw?"
"Down in the country, when I was a boy."
"Hullo! why what are you now? Well, never mind, you're a plucky fellow. Sit down and have some supper."
Tom obeyed, by no means loth. And the fifth form boy next him filled him a tumbler of bottled beer, and he ate and drank, listening to the pleasant talk, and wondering how soon he should be in the fifth, and one of that much-envied society.
As he got up to leave, Brooke said, "You must shake hands to-morrow morning; I shall come and see that done after first lesson."
