He was unhappy. His peace-making
tea-party was not proving a success.
"I wanted to ask you," said Kennedy, quietly, "what you meant by
giving the fags leave down town when you knew that they ought to come
to me?"
The gentle and intelligent reader will remember (though that miserable
worm, the vapid and irreflective reader, will have forgotten) that at
the beginning of the term the fags of Kay's had endeavoured to show
their approval of Fenn and their disapproval of Kennedy by applying to
the former for leave when they wished to go to the town; and that Fenn
had received them in the most ungrateful manner with blows instead of
exeats. Strong in this recollection, he was not disturbed by Kennedy's
question. Indeed, it gave him a comfortable feeling of rectitude.
There is nothing more pleasant than to be accused to your face of
something which you can deny on the spot with an easy conscience. It
is like getting a very loose ball at cricket. Fenn felt almost
friendly towards Kennedy.
"I meant nothing," he replied, "for the simple reason that I didn't do
it."
"I caught Wren down town yesterday, and he said you had given him
leave."
"Then he lied, and I hope you licked him."
"There you are, you see," broke in Jimmy Silver triumphantly, "it's
all a misunderstanding. You two have got no right to be cutting one
another.
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