something.

'I say, Farnie,' said the Bishop, 'half a second.'

Farnie came out, and Gethryn proceeded to inform him that, all things
considered, and proud as he was of the relationship, it was not
absolutely essential that he should tell everybody that he was his
uncle. In fact, it would be rather better on the whole if he did not.
Did he follow?

Farnie begged to observe that he did follow, but that, to his sorrow,
the warning came too late.

'I'm very sorry,' he said, 'I hadn't the least idea you wanted the
thing kept dark. How was I to know? I've just been telling it to some
of the chaps in there. Awfully decent chaps. They seemed to think it
rather funny. Anyhow, I'm not ashamed of the relationship. Not yet, at
any rate.'

For a moment Gethryn seemed about to speak. He looked fixedly at his
uncle as he stood framed in the doorway, a cheerful column of cool,
calm, concentrated cheek. Then, as if realizing that no words that he
knew could do justice to the situation, he raised his foot in silence,
and 'booted' his own flesh and blood with marked emphasis. After which
ceremony he went, still without a word, upstairs again.

As for Farnie, he returned to the junior day-room whistling 'Down
South' in a soft but cheerful key, and solidified his growing
popularity with doles of food from a hamper which he had brought with
him. Finally, on retiring to bed and being pressed by the rest of his