Perhaps it was the reaction after the great excitement. Or it may
have been a rankling sense of injustice at the small glory his brave
deeds on Judy's behalf evoked from the others. They did not seem to
attach any importance to them, and, indeed, laughed every time he
alluded to them or drew public attention to his scars. Two or
three of the scratches on his legs were really bad ones, and while he
was standing waiting he turned down his stockings and gazed at these
with pitying eyes and something like a sob in his throat.
"Nobody cares!" he muttered, and one of his ever-ready tears fell
splashing down on one extended bare leg. "Judy likes Pip best, and
he never climbed the cactus; Meg thinks I tell stories; and Nellie
says I'm a greedy pig--nobody cares!"
Another great fat tear gathered and fell. "Have you taken root
there?" a voice asked.
His father, smoking at the open french window, had been watching him,
and marvelling at his rare and exceeding quietness.
Bunty started, guiltily, and pulled up his stockings.
"I'm not doin' nothin'," he said aggrievedly, after a minute's
pause. Bunty always lapsed into evil grammar when agitated. "Nothing
at all.
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