King of Ranleigh: A School Story

Clive Darrell took from the pocket of a somewhat tattered coat, which bore many a stain and many a sign of hard wear, a filbert of good size, and having admired it in silence cracked the same by placing it upon a miniature anvil and giving it an adroit blow with a hammer. There was a precision about his movements and his action which spoke of practice. Clive was inordinately fond of nuts. His pockets bulged widely with them. As he ate he extracted a handful and presented some to each of his two comrades. "Here, have a go. I've heaps to draw from. Well?" "Well?" came from Hugh Seymour, a boy of his own age, just a little more than thirteen.