"Well," snorted Shorty, as the two boys left for the night, "going to
chum around with the son of your father's cook, are you?"
Hal whirled on his heel, his hand clenched, his knuckles standing out
white and bony; then he checked the torrent of words that sprang to his
lips and answered quietly, "Yes, I am."
"Going to take him to Sir George and Lady Bennington's city residence
for the Easter Vac?" sneered Shorty.
The answer came again quietly, "Yes, I am"; then, after a brief
interval, "if he will pay me the compliment of coming."
Shorty subsided; he had not expected this, and, truth to tell, he felt
at that moment that his sneers had accomplished precisely the opposite
effect to what he had intended; but Hal made no comment until just
before they got into their beds; then he said evenly:
"Shorty, you and I are room-mates, we have been pals for over a year;
we won't discuss Shag Larocque, for I see that we shall never agree
about him."
"I hate a mongrel," sniffed Shorty; "this fellow is neither Indian nor
white."
"He's more Indian than white, and better for it, too," said Hal; "but,
I say, Shorty--what nationality was your father?"
"Irish," said Shorty, with some pride.
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