Tom thereupon buried himself in the mass of correspondence that lay by his plate. When he came to the end, Philip had finished his repast. Tom pushed back his chair.

"Well, Philip, what brings you here? Moggat, you rascal, away with you!"

Philip waited until the door had closed upon Moggat's reluctant back.

"I've—to learn to be—a gentleman," he said.

Tom stared at him. Then he burst out laughing.

"God ha' mercy, Philip, has it come to that?"

"I do not take your meaning," said Philip crossly.

"What! It's not a petticoat?"

"Tom, I'll thank you to—to—be quiet!"

Tom choked his laughter.

"Oh, I'm dumb! How do you propose to set about the task?"

"'Tis what I want to know, Tom."

"And I'm to teach you?"

Philip hesitated.

"Is it perhaps—a thing I can best learn alone?" he asked, surprisingly diffident.

"What is it exactly you want to learn?"

"To become a gentleman. Have I not said it?"

"Odd rot, what are ye now?"

Philip's lips curled.

"I have it on the best authority, Tom, that I am a clumsy, witless clodhopper."

 Prev. P 40/162 next