"He ought to have gone before," said Mr. Jackson. "He's fifteen. Much
too old for that private school. He has had it all his own way there,
and it isn't good for him."

"He's got cheek enough for ten," agreed Bob.

"Wrykyn will do him a world of good."

"We aren't in the same house. That's one comfort."

Bob was in Donaldson's. It softened the blow to a certain extent that
Mike should be going to Wain's. He had the same feeling for Mike that
most boys of eighteen have for their fifteen-year-old brothers. He was
fond of him in the abstract, but preferred him at a distance.

Marjory gave tongue again. She had rescued the jam from Phyllis, who
had shown signs of finishing it, and was now at liberty to turn her
mind to less pressing matters. Mike was her special ally, and anything
that affected his fortunes affected her.

"Hooray! Mike's going to Wrykyn. I bet he gets into the first eleven
his first term."

"Considering there are eight old colours left," said Bob loftily,
"besides heaps of last year's seconds, it's hardly likely that a kid
like Mike'll get a look in. He might get his third, if he sweats."

The aspersion stung Marjory.