Sorrell met his son at Winstonbury station. Kit was smiling. His hands came out quickly to meet his father's.
"I'm sorry, old chap, it was all my fault."
Kit held his father's arm.
"How did it happen?"
"O, Barrington Smith—primus, was motoring with his people,—and they put up at the Pelican."
"I see. Did they make it rather beastly—for you?"
"O, not so bad, pater. I rather enjoyed some of it, especially when I got Barrington Smith hiding under his bed. Mr. Phelps came in. He saw me off at the station."
"Did he? Good chap."
"And he gave me his boxing-gloves. He asked to be remembered to you, pater. He said some rather"
"I ought to have forseen this," said Sorrell.
"Dear old pater,—why—I enjoyed it."
"What?"
"Telling one or two of the swine that you were worth ten of their gov'nors. Besides—I had a whole lot of the fellows on my side. We have nothing to be ashamed of."
"Sure?"
"Well,—you should let me tell you what Mr. Phelps said about"
So Kit returned to Mr. Porteous, and Mr. Porteous and Sorrell began to talk of scholarships and sizarships.
"My dear sir, it's a certainty," said the tutor, "if the boy makes up his mind to go through with it. Trinity or Caius or Pembroke. I'll get hold of all the necessary information. Nearly two clear years. If he doesn't get a scholarship I'll eat my hat."
