But his new friend, who was pronounced in all his ways and evidently an authority on etiquette, wore his open.

Fisher minor therefore furtively slipped his fingers down and opened his coat.
"You're a new kid, I suppose," said he of the red necktie.
"Yes, I'm Fisher minor." "What, son of Fisher the boat-builder?
I didn't know he had one so old." "No, oh no.

That's my brother up there, talking to the Dux." "The who?
I don't see any ducks." "I mean Yorke, you know, the captain." "Why ever do you call him ducks?
You'd better let him catch you calling him names like that.

Oh, you're a brother of old Fisher?
You look it." Fisher minor was alarmed at the tone in which this observation was made.
It seemed to imply that Fisher major was not quite all that could be desired, and yet the younger brother did not exactly know what it was in the elder which called for repudiation.

However, he was spared the pain of deciding by a new voice on his other side.
"What's that, Wally?
Does this kid say he belongs to Fisher?
Oh, my stars, what form we're coming to!" Fisher minor glanced round, and experienced a shock as he did so.
For the new speaker was so like the last that he was tempted to suppose the latter had suddenly changed seats and contrived to substitute a blue necktie for a red, and button his jacket during the feat.