Moore had picked out Bohn's plums from Jim's paste with
unerring accuracy. Whilst Cotton was wishing the roof would fall down on
Corker's head and kill him, the other fellows in the Fifth were enjoying
the fun. Gus Todd, though, felt for his old friend more than a touch of
pity, and when old Corker left Jim alone finally, Gus very cleverly kept
his attention away from Jim's quarter. When Corker finally drew his toga
around him and hurried out, Jim Cotton gathered together his own books
and lounged heavily into the street, sick of school, books, Corker, and
hating Gus with a mighty sullen hate. For Jim had remarked Gus's
sprightliness in the Greek ordeal, but was not clever enough to see that
Gus's performance had been only for old friendship's sake. Jim, however,
put down Todd's device as mere "side," "show-off," "toadyism," and other
choice things, all trotted out specially for his eyes. When he reached
his room he flung his Herodotus into the nearest chair, and himself into
the most comfortable one, and then beat a vicious serenade on his
firegrate with the poker until dinner time.
In the evening, while Jim was moodily planted before a small pile of
books, he received a visitor, no less a personage than Philips, Jim's
occasional hack.
"Well," said Jim, surlily, "what do you want?"
"I'll tell you in a minute, old boy. Can I have a chair?"
"Can't you see I'm busy?" said Cotton, unamiably.
"You look like it, more or less, certainly.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148