I wish we had you at my school for a term. We'd lick you into shape."
"His surname is Curzon, too," put in Angel, "same as mine."
"Very well, then," said the boy, "you're Curzon major, Curzon minor, and Curzon minimus. Hear that, Curzon minimus?" he shouted, tweaking The Seraph's ear.
"I say," said Angel, "you let him alone!" And I ran down the steps. The boy stared.
"Don't you keep him in order?" he asked.
"Rather," replied Angel, "but I don't hurt him for nothing."
"I have two young brothers," said the boy, "and I hurt them for next to nothing. Licks 'em into shape."
He looked around him and then added, "There's no fun here. Let's hook it to my place, and I'll show you my rabbits. I've taken a fancy to you, and, if you like, I'll let you call me by my first name. It's Simon. And I'll call you by yours. That minor and minimus business is rather rotten when you're friends. Come along."
Mrs. Handsomebody, we knew, was safe at a lecture on The Application of Science to Human Relationships; Mary Ellen was doing her Friday's cleaning; therefore, we set off with our new-found friend without fear of hindrance from the female section of our household.
[226]
