"Dear Horrors--"
("That's what he calls me, you know," explained Horace, in a
parenthesis.)
"I am so awfully sorry to hear of your new trouble about money matters,
and that you will have to leave Garden Vale. I wish I could come over
to see you and help you. All the fellows here are awfully cut up about
it, and lots of them want me to send you messages. I don't know what I
shall do without you this term, old man, you were always a brick to me.
Be sure and write to me and tell me everything. As soon as I can get
away for a day I'll come and see you, and I'll write as often as I can.
"Your affectionate,--
"T. Harker.
"P.S.--Wilkins, I expect, will be the new monitor in our house. He is
sure now to get the scholarship Reg was certain of. I wish to goodness
you were both back here."
"He might just as well have left out that about the scholarship," said
Reginald; "it's not very cheering news to hear of another fellow
stepping into your place like that."
"I suppose he thought we'd be curious to know," said Horace.
"Precious curious!" growled Reginald.
"But who's your letter from, Reg?" asked Mrs Cruden.
"Oh, just a line from Bland," replied he, hastily putting it into his
pocket; "he gives no news."
If truth must be told, Blandford's letter was not a very nice one, and
Reginald felt it. He did not care to hear it read aloud in contrast
with Harker's warm-hearted letter. Blandford had written,--
"Dear Cruden,--I hope it's not true about your father's money going all
wrong. It is a great sell, and fellows here, I know, will be very
sorry. Never mind, I suppose there's enough left to make a decent show;
and between you and me it would go down awfully well with the fellows
here if you could send your usual subscription to the football club.
Harker says you'll have to leave Garden Vale. I'm awfully sorry, as I
always enjoyed my visits there so much. What are you going to do? Why
don't you try for the army? The exams are not very hard, my brother
told me, and of course it's awfully respectable, if one must work for
one's living. I must stop now, or I shall miss tennis. Excuse more.
"Yours truly,--
"G. Blandford."
Reginald knew the letter was a cold and selfish one, but it left two
things sticking in his mind which rankled there for a long time. One
was that, come what would, he would send a guinea to the school football
club. The other was--was it _quite_ out of the question that he should
go into the army?
"Awfully rough on Reg," said Horace, "being so near that scholarship.
It'll be no use to Wilkins, not a bit, and fifty pounds a year would be
something to--"