The only boy who made any pretence to an appetite was the Dux, who ate steadily, much to my amazement, in the intervals of the conversation.
"It's a bit of a go, ain't it ?" observed Dicky Brown, who, despite his educational advantages, could never quite master the politest form of his native tongue.
"Rather," said I--"awkward for somebody." Then, as my eyes fell once more on Tempest, complacently cutting another slice off the loaf, an idea occurred to me.
"You know, Dicky," said I, feeling that I was walking on thin ice, "I almost fancied I heard a sound of a gun in the night." Dicky laughed.
"Trust you for knowing all about a thing after it's happened.

It would have been a rum thing if you hadn't." This was unfeeling of Dicky.

I am sure I have never pretended to know as much about anything as he did.
"Oh, but I really did--a shot, and a yell too," said I.
"Go it, you're getting on," said Dicky.

"You can pile it up, Tom.

Why don't you say you saw me do it while you are about it ?" "Because I didn't." "All I can say," said the Dux, buttering his bread liberally, "I'm precious glad the beast is off the hooks.