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The sum was this. Dodd's general performance was
mediocre, but passable; he was plucked for his Logic. Hardie said he was
very sorry for it. "What does it matter?" answered Kennet; "he is a
boating-man.
"Well, and I am a boating-man. Why, you told me yourself, the other day,
poor Dodd was anxious about it on account of his friends. And,
by-the-bye, that reminds me they say he has got two pretty sisters here."
Says Kennet briskly, "I'll go and tell him; I know him just to speak to."
"What! doesn't he know?"
"How can he know ?" said Kennet jealously; "the testamumrs were only just
out as I came away." And within this line started on his congenial
errand.
Hardie took two or three of his long strides, and fairly collared him.
"You will do nothing of the kind."
"What, not tell a man when he's ploughed? That is a good joke."
"No. There's time enough. Tell him after chapel to-morrow, or in chapel
if you must; but why poison his triumphal cup? And his sisters, too, why
spoil their pleasure? Hang it all, not a word about 'ploughing' to any
living soul to-day.


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