The mere idea of a worm like the Gazeka being told to keep an eye on _him_ was degrading. “He said he’d look after you,” added Bob, making things worse. Look after him! Him!! M. Jackson, of the third eleven!!! Mike helped himself to another chunk of cake, and spoke crushingly. “He needn’t trouble,” he said. “I can look after myself all right, thanks.” Bob saw an opening for the entry of the Heavy Elder Brother. “Look here, Mike,” he said, “I’m only saying it for your good----” I should like to state here that it was not Bob’s habit to go about the world telling people things solely for their good. He was only doing it now to ease his conscience. “Yes?” said Mike coldly. “It’s only this. You know, I should keep an eye on myself if I were you. There’s nothing that gets a chap so barred here as side.” “What do you mean?” said Mike, outraged. “Oh, I’m not saying anything against you so far,” said Bob. “You’ve been all right up to now. What I mean to say is, you’ve got on so well at cricket, in the third and so on, there’s just a chance you might start to side about a bit soon, if you don’t watch yourself. I’m not saying a word against you so far, of course. Only you see what I mean.” Mike’s feelings were too deep for words. In sombre silence he reached out for the jam; while Bob, satisfied that he had delivered his message in a pleasant and tactful manner, filled his cup, and cast about him for further words of wisdom. “Seen you about with Wyatt a good deal,” he said at length. “Yes,” said Mike. “Like him?” “Yes,” said Mike cautiously. “You know,” said Bob, “I shouldn’t--I mean, I should take care what you’re doing with Wyatt.” “What do you mean?” “Well, he’s an awfully good chap, of course, but still----” “Still what?” “Well, I mean, he’s the sort of chap who’ll probably get into some thundering row before he leaves. He doesn’t care a hang what he does. He’s that sort of chap. He’s never been dropped on yet, but if you go on breaking rules you’re bound to be sooner or later. Thing is, it doesn’t matter much for him, because he’s leaving at the end of the term. But don’t let him drag you into anything. Not that he would try to. But you might think it was the blood thing to do to imitate him, and the first thing you knew you’d be dropped on by Wain or somebody. See what I mean?” Bob was well-intentioned, but tact did not enter greatly into his composition. “What rot!” said Mike. “All right. But don’t you go doing it. I’m going over to the nets. I see Burgess has shoved you down for them. You’d better be going and changing. Stick on here a bit, though, if you want any more tea. I’ve got to be off myself.” Mike changed for net-practice in a ferment of spiritual injury. It was maddening to be treated as an infant who had to be looked after. He felt very sore against Bob.