"Don't say anything to him about being queer last night, nor about me bullying him.

He couldn't help it." "Oh, I sha'n't say anything," I said.
"He couldn't help it," whispered Bigley again.

"No more could I." We all grew very serious then, for as we neared the shore, there was the question to think over about meeting our fathers, and what they would say.

Would they be exceedingly angry with us, or talk quietly about our narrow escape?
I found that my companions were thinking as I was, for Bigley said quietly: "I'm afraid my father will be very cross." "So am I," was my reply, when Bob came to where we were gazing over the bulwark shoreward, and said sulkily: "I say, I don't want to be bad friends with you two.

My father's sure to give me a big wigging for letting you persuade me to go.