THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP (continued 2)

"Poor old Dandy!" he murmured again and again, "but for me he would be alive now."

Early in the morning Jim wakened, and in an instant Dick was by his side.

"Feel better, old boy?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm all right. Where's Braithwaite? What's the matter? Why are you looking like that? Is he—dead?"

"Yes," said Dick, and no one would have known it was the Angel speaking.

"Then I've killed him! He only went because I called him a coward."

"'Twas as much my fault as yours," said Dick. "I started it. Poor old Dandy!"

Jim did not speak again; and even when, later in the day, he went home, his mother could hardly get a word from him; but at the inquest he told the story without hiding anything, and took all the blame on his own shoulders.

"Braithwaite wouldn't have gone," he said; "only I laughed at him for being afraid."

The whole incident was so plain that the jury at once brought in a verdict of "accidental death," adding a rider that, in their opinion, the Old Fort and the bridge should be destroyed.

The event, of course, caused a tremendous sensation in the town. Many people spoke harshly of Jim, but all admired his courage both in attempting to save the drowning boy and in frankly telling the truth afterwards.

"The lad has grit," remarked the doctor who had brought him round. "I hope he won't take it too much to heart."

He was a Scotsman named Stewart, a pleasant, cheery fellow, well known in Beauleigh both for his ability and kindliness.

"I've a good mind to call and have a look at him," said he. "What's his address?" pulling out his notebook. "Hum! Brook Street! Not very much burdened with this world's goods, I expect."

That same evening Mrs. Hartland was startled by a loud rat-tat, and going to the door, found the doctor there.

"Good-evening!" said he briskly; "are you Mrs. Hartland? I am the doctor who attended your boy, and I've come to have a look at him. No, no; don't make a fuss. I'll come straight through, if you don't mind." And closing the door, he followed Mrs. Hartland into the sitting-room.

"Well, young shaver," said he, patting Jim on the back, "how do you feel now?—better? That was a very plucky thing you did.—You ought to be proud of him, ma'am; he deserves the Society's medal. And who is this young lady?" stooping to touch Susie's hair. "Can't get up? Dear me! that is sad. Any one attending her?"

"Not now, sir. You see, the doctors—"

"Quite so; I understand. Now, suppose I have a look at her in the morning—eh? I've had some experience in these cases. I shan't call professionally—just as a friend of this young gentleman's, you know."

"O sir, how can I thank you?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartland gratefully.

"No need of thanks to any one yet, ma'am; but if I can do the dear child any good, she can thank her brother, because, but for him, I should not be here to-night. Eh, Pussy?" And he pulled Susie's ear playfully.

"Jim tried to save the other boy," said Susie with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, I know, and nearly lost his own life. He was very silly in the first place, but turned out a real hero after all.—Now, Jim, brighten up and look cheerful. You've had a hard lesson; show the world you've learned something from it. What's done can't be undone, and moping won't make things a bit better. Well, I must go.—Good-night, Pussy. Shall we say ten o'clock in the morning? That will suit me nicely." And with a bright smile all round, and a last word of encouragement to Jim, he took his leave.

"O mother," cried Susie, "isn't he a nice man?"

"He is, my dear, and wonderfully clever too, I've heard," replied Mrs. Hartland. "Oh, what a good thing it will be if he can make you stronger!"

They talked about it till bedtime, but Jim was very quiet. He was still thinking of the boy who had gone so suddenly to his death.

CHAPTER IX.

THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION.

There was a subdued air about Mr. Laythorne's class the next morning, and the boys could not keep their eyes from the desk which Percy Braithwaite had occupied. He had not been very popular, but the startling tragedy had gripped their minds, making them feel really sorry for the loss of their schoolmate.

As to Jim Hartland, opinion was divided. Some of the boys rather pitied him, others looked on him as a hero, while a few blamed him outright for being the cause of Braithwaite's death.

"He should have known better," said one. "It might have been all very well for him and the Angel, but 'twas a fool's game to let Dandy into. I don't suppose he had ever gone to the Fort before, even in daylight."

"They must have been blind not to have seen the tide coming in," exclaimed another. "And fancy Dick Boden, the little idiot, letting 'em grub about there, while he had the knife in his pocket all the time!"

"Oh, that's just like one of the Angel's tricks! But he's a good-hearted little chap, and this business has cut him up dreadfully."

Somehow, in the eyes of his schoolfellows, Dick rarely did wrong; and even those who looked askance at Jim were unwilling to say anything against his popular chum.

All this chatter took place in the playground before either of the two boys arrived, for Dick was rather late, while Jim did not get in till after prayers. He winced, too, on seeing the vacant desk, but fortunately his mind was somewhat preoccupied by wondering what Dr. Stewart would be able to do for Susie.

The morning seemed terribly long, but he stumbled through his lessons without actual failure, and as soon as school was dismissed, started for home at full speed. Panting and blowing, he got to the door just as the doctor was leaving.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Dr. Stewart kindly; "there's no need to ask how you are. Well, I've seen your sister. Mother will tell you all about it." And stepping into his gig, he drove off.

Mrs. Hartland's first words brought the blood to the boy's face.

"O Jim," she cried, "he thinks there's a chance for Susie. He won't promise, of course, but he is quite hopeful about it. He has been here nearly two hours, though knowing perfectly well that I can't pay him. And what do you think he has offered to do?"

"I can't guess," replied the boy.

"To get her into the private hospital for children. He's going to send a nurse and a proper invalid-chair in the morning, and attend to her himself, just as if he were charging a big fee."

"He's a real old brick!" exclaimed Jim enthusiastically.

"And he thinks—though, of course, I haven't told Susie—that at the end of six months she may be able to walk! He says there was a girl suffering just like Susie in a Scotch hospital, and she was cured. But there is only a chance, of course."

"What does Susie say about going?"

"Well, the poor child is rather timid and nervous but she is quite willing. It's wonderful how she has taken to the doctor."

Before getting his dinner, Jim ran up to his sister, who was in bed, and feeling rather weary after the medical examination.

"Has mother told you?" she asked, smiling bravely.

"Yes. Isn't it glorious? You don't mind going, do you? I shall come to see you on Sundays. And oh, suppose—suppose you should be able to walk some day!"

There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes as she answered, "Don't talk about that, Jim—not yet. I try not to think of it, because it may never happen."

"I believe it will, though," declared Jim stoutly. "The doctor would not say there was a chance unless he felt pretty sure of it."

"Did he say that?" asked the girl eagerly.

"Yes; only you must keep up your spirits and go on hoping all the time. Now I must run off, or I shall be late for school."

At the door she called him back, saying, "I should like to see Dick before I go."

"So you shall. I'll tell him presently, and he'll come in this evening. Old Dick will be as happy as a sand-boy when he hears the news."

As it happened, Jim had no chance to speak to his chum till after school, when, as usual, Dick went a part of the way to the shop with him.

"I'll go in directly after tea," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Poor little midge! 'twill be dreary enough in the hospital; but, I say, fancy her walking! Even if she has to use a crutch it will be something. Well, I'll turn off here and run straight home. Good-night, in case I'm gone when you get back."

True to his word, Dr. Stewart sent a nurse with the famous chair the next morning, and also looked in himself to superintend the removal of his little patient.

"There," said he, "now you're comfortable—eh? Oh yes; mother's coming too. Why, it's quite a royal procession. And on Sunday we shall have our big brother to see how we're getting on—eh, my lassie?"

Brook Street showed unwonted excitement over the child's removal, and discussed it volubly and freely, agreeing on the whole with the crushing remark of Mrs. Archer, whose chief occupation in life was discussing the affairs of her neighbours.

"As much fuss," said she scornfully, "as if she was a real lady! An' her brother goin' round with papers! It's a wonder they don't have a carriage with houtriders and postillions, like the King!"

Meanwhile Susie was taken to the hospital and carried into a room containing four beds. Over one hung a card with "Susie Hartland" written on it, and the child smiled with pleasure on seeing the snowy sheets and soft white pillows and pretty counterpane. Then, when she was cozily tucked up, her mother sat and talked to her cheerfully, and a nurse brought games and picture-books with which she could amuse herself later on.

She cried a little when the time came for parting with her mother, but the nurse was so kind and gentle that she soon dried her tears.

Mrs. Hartland felt the separation too, especially in the evening, when she sat alone with her work. Although an invalid, Susie was always bright and cheerful, and her good spirits had done much to lessen her mother's grief.

The excitement attending his sister's going away had buoyed Jim up, and kept him from moping, but now he began to brood over the unlucky accident at the Old Fort. Although a strong, healthy boy, he was extremely sensitive, and conjured up all sorts things that existed only in his imagination. School no longer had any attraction for him; he cut himself adrift from his old companions, even endeavouring to shake Dick off, but the Angel stuck to him resolutely.

"You're a silly duffer, Jim," said he, with charming frankness. "What's the use of moping about like a barn owl? You did your best to save Braithwaite, and you can't bring him back to life, anyhow. I'm as sorry as you, but pulling a long face won't do any good."

"Every one's down on me," answered Jim sulkily. "Laythorne hardly speaks, and the fellows look as if I had committed a murder; and it's just the same in the town. I'm sick of it. I wish I'd been drowned myself."

"Pooh!" said Dick; "you're talking rubbish. I'm ashamed of you, Jim, 'pon my word. I thought you had more grit. I'm sure no one could have been kinder than Laythorne; and as for the fellows—why, half of them think you're a greater hero than Nelson. You should hear 'em talk!"

"I've a good mind to get a berth on board ship," said Jim gloomily.

"What? and leave your mother and sister? Well you're a bigger coward than I ever took you for, Jim Hartland!"

This was the first unpleasantness that had occurred between the two chums; but Dick was in dead earnest and did not mince his words. Better balanced than Jim, he took a more sensible view of things. He admitted they had acted foolishly, and without thought; but they had done their best, Jim especially, to remedy the mistake. They bitterly regretted not being able to rescue their companion, but to Dick's mind this was no reason why they should spoil their own lives.

It is likely enough that Jim would have come round to this view, but for an unexpected event which revived the interest in Braithwaite's death.

One evening he had gone as usual into the shop directly after tea. Mr. Broad was absent when the papers arrived, so that Jim, after arranging the bundle, had a few minutes to spare.

Opening one of the papers, he saw in big type—"The Gayton Scholarship." His heart beat fast, and for a second or two he dared not look farther. Then with feverish anxiety he read the paragraph at a glance, and stood leaning over the counter like one dazed. Was it possible? Could it be really true? Surely there must be some mistake! Half mechanically his eves wandered over the words again, but with the same result.

This is the announcement as it appeared in The Beauleigh Evening News:—

"THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.—The result of the examination for the Gayton Scholarship is now to hand. Forty-five candidates, the cream of the elementary schools, were examined, and we give below the names of the six highest, with the number of marks obtained by each out of a possible thousand:—

The honour of winning the scholarship thus goes to the Deanery School; but, unhappily, the successful candidate cannot take advantage of his victory. Our readers will, no doubt, remember the sad accident which recently occurred at the Old Fort, in which Percy Braithwaite lost his life. Great sympathy is felt for the sorrowing parents. It is sad to think of the early termination to what evidently might have been a distinguished career. The scholarship will therefore be awarded to the candidate next on the list, Hugh Temple of St. Paul's, who, it will be noticed, is only three marks behind the leader."

At first, Jim could think of nothing but the blow to his own pride. Most of the Deanery boys fully expected him to win the scholarship; they had coupled his name with it as far back as the cricket match for the Challenge Shield; they had looked up to him as their champion. And now the list was out, and he was not even in the first six!

I am sorry to admit it, but the truth must be told. Jim fairly broke down. He was angry, mortified, and ashamed. He felt the blow with bitter humiliation, and while doing his round that evening he had not the courage to look any one in the face. It seemed as if all the town must be jeering at him as a dead failure.

He could have yielded pride of place to Temple, but to be beaten by Braithwaite, and even by the light-hearted Angel! This was where the sting lay, because, knowing the extent of their abilities, he felt that he was far superior to them.

Of course, he had had hard lines in his father's death, in the necessity for finding work, and again in his mother's illness; but he could not tell all the world that. The Deanery fellows bothered little about his misfortunes; in their eyes the thing would be simple enough: he had failed even to get into the first six, and there was an end of it.

When he got home that night, he said nothing of the news; so that his mother, who rarely bought a paper, did not know that the list was out.

"She will know soon enough," he thought bitterly, "and on Sunday I shall have to tell Susie."

CHAPTER X.

GOING DOWN HILL.

Nowhere was the result of the examination received with greater surprise than at the Deanery School. It is safe to say that every boy looked twice at the published list before admitting Jim Hartland's name was not there.

On the following morning the boys of the upper classes, gathering together in the playground, discussed the matter excitedly.

"It's just what I've always said," exclaimed Simpson; "the chap's no better than the rest of us. Just because he can play cricket a bit, we put him on the top of a monument, and now, down he comes—flop!"

"Well, you needn't be afraid of tumbling," laughed little Macdonald, "because you'll never be put on the top of anything. You're always having a dig at Hartland, because he wouldn't have you in the cricket eleven."

"Well said, Alec!" cried the Angel. "That's the truth. Now look at me. I came out fourth."

"So you did!"

"Good old Angel!"

"You'll be first another time!"

"Oh, what rot!" exclaimed Dick. "Can't you let a fellow speak? What I want to say is that Jim Hartland's twice as good as me."

"He didn't make much show, anyhow," growled Simpson.

"No, he didn't. And why? Because, when his father was drowned, he went to work to help his mother. If it hadn't been for that, he'd have won the 'Gayton' easily."

"Well, he lost it!" growled Simpson; "and through him the Deanery lost it, too!"

"How's that?"

"How's that! Why, wasn't it through his bounce that Dandy Braithwaite got drowned?"

"Don't listen to him, Angel," said Macdonald, for Dick had doubled up his fists, and his eyes were flashing fire.

"Pooh!" said Simpson. "I don't care; everybody knows it's true."

"He owned as much as that himself," chimed in Archer, who owed Jim a grudge.

"Perhaps you think he wanted Braithwaite to get drowned," exclaimed Dick sarcastically, "and that he and I put up the little job between us?"

"I'm not saying anything against you," replied Simpson; "but I do say it's Hartland's fault we lost the 'Gayton,' and you can take it how you like."

This was the view held by many of the Deanery boys, who were very sore that the scholarship had gone to St. Paul's. Thus the subject of the tragedy was brought to the front again, and during the interval at morning school Jim could not help overhearing some of the remarks. Angry and miserable, he went to a corner of the playground, where Dick followed him.

"Look here, Jim," said the Angel cheerily; "don't mope about the 'Gayton.' We've all seen the list, of course, and I'm awfully sorry you aren't in it. It's too ridiculous putting me above you. I know that, and so do the others. It's like turning you out of the eleven to put Simpson in; but buck up, old chap—you'll soon get over it."

"I wasn't thinking about you, Dicky," replied his chum. "I'm jolly glad you're high up."

"What are you looking so miserable about, then?"

"Oh, hang it all!" cried Jim excitedly; "can't you hear what the fellows are saying? They look at me as black as thunder!"

"Let 'em," rejoined the Angel serenely; "that won't hurt you."

"Oh," said Jim, jerking himself away savagely, "it's easy for you to talk! I wish the place was at the bottom of the sea!"

"I don't!" replied Dick. "My mac's worn out, and I shan't get another this side of Christmas. Here's Macdonald coming; don't eat him."

"I say, Hartland," began Alec, who was as red as a turkey-cock, "I'm awfully sorry you didn't get the 'Gayton.' I know from what the Angel has said that you've had jolly hard lines."

"Thanks!" growled Jim. "But I wonder you aren't afraid to be seen speaking to me."

"I wish you didn't feel so cut up about it," returned Macdonald, ignoring Jim's surliness. "You're looking at it through magnifying glasses."

Unfortunately Jim did feel cut up, and by continual brooding made himself more and more miserable. From this time, I fear, he began to go slowly down hill, and the only gleam of good feeling he displayed was with regard to his mother and Susie.

"I'm very sorry, my boy," said his mother, when he told her; "and yet I shall never think of this scholarship without feeling proud of you. I know you had a good chance of winning it, and threw it away for the sake of helping me."

"No, no, mother," cried the boy cheerfully; "you mustn't look at it that way. I mightn't have won the scholarship at all; and anyhow, I couldn't have accepted it."

On Sunday, when at the hospital, he talked to Susie much in the same way, making light of his disappointment so successfully that the girl was quite deceived.

At school, however, he was very different, becoming surly and morose, and making enemies of the boys who would willingly have remained his friends.

Mr. Broad, too, noticed his altered manner; but knowing the circumstances, he said nothing, thinking the trouble would soon blow over; besides, Jim did not neglect his work. He was always punctual, and had such a quick grasp of his duties that he saved his employer a great deal of labour.

His usefulness in the shop led Mr. Broad to engage the services of a smaller boy for the evening round, while Jim was promoted to the dignity of serving behind the counter. This made him later at night, but he generally found an opportunity of doing his lessons before going home. His wages were raised to six shillings a week, and there was some talk of his going into the business altogether when he left school.

"Keep steady, my boy," said his employer, "learn all you can here, and there is no reason why you should not get on well."

Unfortunately Jim had drifted away from his schoolmates, seeing little even of Dick. To a certain extent this was inevitable, but Dick soon discovered that his old chum was beginning to lose pleasure in his company.

The truth was that Jim had picked up some new friends, with whom he knew quite well that Dick would have nothing to do. He himself was a little ashamed of them, but he eased his conscience by saying he must have some one to talk to. One night on leaving the shop he found the Angel outside.

"Hullo, Dick," he said; "anything wrong?"

"Oh no. I had an hour to spare, so I thought I'd come and meet you—that's all. We haven't seen much of each other lately."

"That isn't my fault."

"No; I'm not blaming you. I was awfully disappointed last night, though."

Jim's face became red.

"How is that?" he asked.

"Oh, I came round last night just in time to see you going off with Curly Peters and his chum."

"Why shouldn't I? What's the matter with Curly?"

"Oh, nothing!" replied Dick airily—"only he's a foul-mouthed little blackguard. Perhaps you'll take him with you on Sunday to see Susie?"

That shot struck home, and Jim winced, but he answered sneeringly,—

"You'll be getting another nickname soon: they'll be calling you the Saint."

"They might do worse," replied Dick cheerfully. "Anyhow, I'd make a cleaner saint than Curly."

"That's right!" exclaimed Jim, trying to work himself into a passion; "you're like all the rest. Just because the chap's poor and has no friends you're down on him. I've been through it myself."

The Angel laughed genially.

"There's something in that," he agreed. "You see, we Baxter's Court millionaires"—Dick lived in a tiny house in Baxter's Court—"don't care much to mix up with poor people. But Curly has a few extra points in his favour. He's dirty, he loafs about the town cadging for coppers instead of going to work, he thinks it big to swear, and I don't know that he's over honest."

"Well, he hasn't asked for your company," said Jim sullenly.

"No," replied the Angel with a smile; "perhaps that's why I'm prejudiced against him. And now let's talk about something else. How's Susie?"

"Better," said Jim, his face brightening. "The doctor says he is more than satisfied."

Let me hasten to place something to the credit side of Jim's account. Whatever evil habits he might have fallen into, he was a good brother. At every opportunity he visited the hospital to cheer his sister. With her he was always kind and bright and cheerful. For her sake he denied himself many little pleasures, saving up his odd coppers in order to buy some little present that would please and delight her.

As for Susie, she thought there was no one like her brother; to her he was the one hero in the world, followed, though at a long distance, by Dick.

On the subject of Susie, therefore, the boys could talk without restraint; but when that was exhausted they became silent, both vaguely realizing that, in some strange way, a barrier was rising up between them, and that the good old times were gradually disappearing.

Both were sorry; yet the mischief appeared unavoidable. Dick tried hard to restore matters to their former footing. He was really fond of Jim, and could not see him drift without an effort to check him. Frequently he waited outside the shop till his chum left, thinking to entice him away from his fresh associates.

One night as they walked away together Curly Peters came towards them.

"You aren't going to stop, are you?" asked Dick anxiously.

"Why not? D'you think he'll give us the plague?"

"Oh, well," said Dick, "I'm off. I'd be ashamed to be seen speaking to him."

Now this was an unfortunate remark, as it reminded Jim of an incident which occurred only the previous evening. Mr. Broad, coming into the shop unexpectedly, had seen Peters slinking out.

"What did that customer want, Hartland?" he asked sharply.

Jim felt cornered for a moment, but replied steadily,—

"He wanted to know if there was a chance of getting a paper job."

This was a lie; but I warned you Jim had sadly deteriorated, and he dared not tell his master that the boy was his friend.

Thinking of this, he turned on Dick savagely, saying,—

"He's good enough for me if he isn't for you."

"All right," exclaimed Dick; "every one to his taste. Some people I know have a lot of taste—all bad. Good-night, old man. Hope you'll have a bath when you get home."

"My stars!" cried Curly, as Dick went off; "ain't we getting proud? Washing and charing must be goin' up. It ought to make you feel taller, Jimmy, talking to a toff like that."

"Keep your chaff to yourself," said Jim crossly. "Dick Boden's a heap better than you or me."

Curly opened his eyes wide, but being a wise youth in his generation, and having a particular object in view, he let the subject drop.

"You couldn't lend me another sixpence, Jimmy, I suppose?" he said after a time.

"No," said Jim shortly, "I couldn't; and what's more, I'd like the last one back."

"You shall have it in a few days, but I've been awfully unlucky lately. I'll pay you back, never fear. I wouldn't like you to have to borrow from the old man's till; it's dangerous."

"Borrow from the till? What do you mean?"

"Nothin'; only I once knew a feller who did that. When he wanted any money he used to take it from the till, and pay it back Saturday nights."

"Why, he was just a common thief!" exclaimed Jim scornfully. "I'd rather starve than do that."

"Of course you would," said Curly approvingly, "and so would I. Let us be honest if we are poor; that's my motto. But it's hard when a chap's starvin', you know. Where are you goin'?"

"Home," said Jim. "I'm tired."

"All right. I'll pay you that tanner soon. Wouldn't it be a lark to march into the shop and ask the boss for my friend, Jim Hartland?"

"I don't think you'd better," said Jim. "He mightn't like it."

"What did he say last night, then?"

"Oh, well, you see," replied Jim hesitatingly, "I didn't tell him. And I say, Curly, you'd better give me the sixpence in the street."

"All right," replied Curly; "I'll remember." Then himself he added, "Well, he is a blessed mug, and mistake. One of the regular old-fashioned sort."

CHAPTER XI.

IS JIM A THIEF?

Three weeks after the conversation recorded in our last chapter, Mr. Broad wished Jim good-night, closed the shop door, and returned to his desk. As a rule he was a cheery, good-humoured man, easy-going, and with an eye for the bright side of things.

On this particular evening he appeared moody and unsettled, and quite unable to look through the pile of books which lay on the desk. Presently, leaving his chair, he walked up and down the shop.

"I can't believe it," he said half aloud. "I don't wish to believe it. The boy has always seemed as honest as the day. I must have made a mistake." And his face brightened. Then it clouded again, and he went on, "Why should I beat about the bush instead of going straight to the point? I know I am not mistaken. Some one stole a florin from the till last night, and Hartland must have been the thief."

For some time past Mr. Broad had had a vague suspicion that he was being robbed—not on a large scale, and not regularly; but now and again he fancied a piece of silver or a few coppers disappeared.

The incident which converted his suspicion into certainty was this. On the previous night he had left the shop with a friend. Before going, he placed a florin, the price of an article just sold, in the till. On his return the florin was gone, and, according to Jim's own words, no customer had entered the shop.

It was very perplexing, but Mr. Broad did not like to tax the boy with theft, and rather foolishly made no further remark. It was just possible, he told himself, that he only intended to put the florin in the till, but had really slipped it into his pocket. One thing he knew—that after going out he had changed a florin in the town.

However, the subject worried him a good deal, especially as, on sober reflection, he felt convinced that the coin had been left in the shop.

"I hate to do it," he muttered, "but it will be better even for the boy's own sake. A sharp fright may do him good and teach him a useful lesson. If he isn't found out now he is pretty certain to go from bad to worse. It's an awful pity, too. He's a smart lad, and ought to do well; but I shall never feel able to trust him again, and I shan't feel justified in recommending him to any one else."

The shopkeeper kept his suspicions to himself, saying nothing even to his wife. He had watched Jim closely, however, while affecting to be busy in another part of the shop. Nothing resulted from this amateur detective work, but Mr. Broad noticed that several times during the evening Jim cast glances toward the door.

This certainly seemed rather odd, but it was no proof of guilt; and the stationer concluded his best plan was to lay a trap for Jim, and then go off the premises, leaving him a clear field.

The opportunity came the next day when most of the shops closed early. Mr. Broad was compelled to keep open because of the evening papers; but as soon as they were dispatched, the gas was lowered, and there was nothing to do beyond waiting for the errand-boy's return. As a rule the master did this himself, and Jim had an hour or two off.

On this particular evening, however, Mr. Broad said, "Hartland, I am going out, so you must stay till I return."

"Very good, sir," replied Jim, who really thought it was very bad, for he had promised to meet Curly Peters at the bottom of the street.

Mr. Broad went round the shop, turned down the lights, except the one over the desk, and went out, saying,—

"If I am not here by half-past nine, turn the gas off at the meter, lock the door, and bring the keys to my house. Most likely though I shall be back."

"Yes, sir," said Jim, who earnestly hoped he would.

"Upon my word," muttered Mr. Broad to himself, as he stepped into the street, "this business is horrible. I feel almost as if I were committing some terrible crime. But, after all, it will be a warning to him. Some men would have him packed off to jail, and then he could never hold his head up again."

He pulled out his watch and looked at the time.

"I'll just run down and have a gossip at the club," said he. "I feel as nervous as if I had robbed the till myself.—-Bless my soul, boy, why don't you look where you are going?"

"Awfully sorry, sir," said the boy, who was no other than our lively friend, Dick Boden. "I hope you aren't hurt?"

"No; but you startled me. You might have been a policeman, you know, or—or—Dear me, my nerves are in an extraordinary state!"

"Funny old gent," thought Dick; and then, stealing a second look at him, he said to himself, "Why, it's Mr. Broad. It's no use waiting for Jim, then. He has to mind the shop."

Remembering that it was early closing day, he had run up directly his lessons were finished, thinking he might catch Jim and induce him to go for a good game. He went very rarely now, but he had not quite abandoned the hope of rescuing Jim from the clutches of his new friends, who, according to some of the boys, were doing him more harm than good. Indeed, there were some curious tales floating about which made Dick extremely anxious on his friend's account.

"I've half a mind to call at the shop and ask him when he'll be off duty," he thought. "Perhaps his master will be coming back in a few minutes."

He still stood hesitating on the pavement, when he suddenly caught sight of a little by-play which turned his thoughts in another direction.

"I wonder," he muttered, "what game those chaps are up to. No good, I'll be bound."

A few paces off he saw Curly Peters and his mate gazing after the worthy stationer, and presently they began talking together very earnestly. Dick could not hear what passed, but he felt sure they were discussing some scheme with which Mr. Broad was connected.

Now, as a rule, the Angel took little interest in his neighbours' doings, but on this occasion he could not help watching closely.

"I mustn't let them see me, though," he muttered, and crossed to the other side of the road.

At last the two boys finished their conversation; and then, while Curly lounged about the pavement, his companion, whose name was Bryant, ran after Mr. Broad.

"Hum!" said Dick; "that's a queer start. I should like to watch this little game, yet I don't want to lose sight of Curly."

The whole affair was most perplexing; but in a few minutes Bryant returned, laughing and evidently well pleased. He said something to his companion, who nodded approvingly, and then strolled up the street.

"Going to call on Jim, I'll bet sixpence!" said Dick, who, by the way, never bet sixpence or any other sum of money in his life. "What an idiot he is not to drop 'em. Not much use in my going on, I suppose."

He has told me since that he had actually turned to go home, when a queer thing happened. The two boys had reached the shop, when Bryant slipped into a doorway adjoining the stationer's, and stood close against the wall as if not wishing to be seen. In this he was greatly helped by the fact of the building being in darkness.

Without any definite object Dick did the same thing on his side of the street.

"This is getting quite exciting," said Dick to himself. "Why did he slip in there, I wonder? Doesn't he want Jim to see him? But if not, why not? It doesn't seem very clear."

As soon as Bryant had disappeared, Curly sauntered carelessly past the shop window and back again. Then he looked up and down the street, which was now nearly empty, and, appearing satisfied, approached the door.

Dick judged that he whistled softly and received no answer. In a minute or two he whistled again, when the door was opened partly, and he appeared to be talking to some one inside.

"That must be Jim," thought Dick. "I suppose they are making some arrangement; but it's odd the other fellow doesn't show himself."

Presently Curly took what appeared to be a scrap of newspaper from his pocket, and in order to see it better, Jim came right outside. Then, almost imperceptibly, Curly began to edge away till he manoeuvred Jim from the doorway to the front of the shop. The movement was so natural and performed so dexterously that even the suspicious Dick thought nothing of it.

But the instant the coast was clear, a dark figure glided swiftly through the open door and disappeared in the shop. Dick rubbed his eyes and looked at Jim. His head was bent over the paper, and, whether by accident or design, Curly kept him engaged in animated conversation.

What was to be done? Should he rush over and give the alarm? For once in his life he could not decide what to do, and while he hesitated the opportunity was lost.

Jim was still talking earnestly when the dark figure reappeared in the doorway, stole away with cat-like stealth by the side of the wall, and vanished. The next moment some one coughed loudly; Jim looked up with a start, returned the paper to Curly, and, with a parting word, went back to the shop door. A dozen yards away Bryant waited for his companion. There was not sufficient light for Dick to see what took place, but in a minute or two Curly ran back quickly to where Jim was still standing.

This time Curly did not speak so quietly, and so Dick was able to hear brief snatches of the conversation, such as, "Awfully sorry—wouldn't do you—now we're square, aren't we?"

"Yes," replied Jim, slipping something into his pocket, "and it comes in very handy just now."

"All right," said Curly, walking away; and raising his voice, he added, "You'll be sure to come, won't you? We'll have a rattling good time. So long."

Dick was on the horns of a dilemma. He felt eager to tell his chum what he had seen, yet he had a vague idea that he ought to keep an eye on the other two.

"I'll follow them up," he said, "and then come back to meet Jim. Unless I've been dreaming with my eyes open, there's something very rotten in the state of Denmark."

Meanwhile, Jim remained at the door till the errand-boy returned, then he went in and sat down at the desk. He had finished his lessons, and was in the midst of a very exciting story, but somehow he did not find much pleasure in it.

As a matter of fact he was getting very tired of Curly Peters and Company. He knew quite well they were doing him no food. On more than one occasion they had forced him to lie to his employer and to do other things of which he was heartily ashamed.

"I've a good mind to cut the whole concern," said he, "make a clean breast of it to the gov'nor, and ask him to give me a fresh start. I really believe he would do it."

Then he turned to his book again, but it was useless trying to follow the fortunes of the hero; he was thinking all the time what a fool he had been in preferring Curly Peters to Dick Boden.

"The Angel's a little brick," he said to himself. "He's stuck to me like a leech, though I've snubbed him awfully. Never mind, Dicky; I'll make up for it, if you'll let me."

Presently he closed the book, got down from the desk, and went to the door, muttering, "I wish the gov'nor would make haste."

He little guessed the shame and agony which Mr. Broad's return would cause him.

CHAPTER XII.

WHERE IS THE MISSING MONEY?

"Hullo, Hartland! tired of waiting?"

"Rather, sir. I thought I would come outside for a breath of fresh air."

"Ah! Everything all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any one been here?"

"Only Johnson."

Johnson was the boy who did the evening round.

"Just so.—Come inside, Farrant, will you?—Turn up the gas, Hartland. I want you to stay a few minutes longer."

"Yes, sir," replied Jim, who was getting his hat.

He thought his employer's manner a trifle strange, and rather wondered why Mr. Farrant, who was a frequent visitor, remained standing just inside the door. However, he turned the gas on full and waited.

"Sure no one has been here?" repeated the stationer.

"Quite sure, sir," answered Jim, who thought it was a very odd question.

"Then you haven't sold anything, or given change?"

"No," said Jim, who was beginning to feel a trifle uneasy, though he scarcely knew why.

"Hum," said his master; "that's satisfactory in one sense, at least. It leaves no room for mistakes." And going round the counter he opened the till.

One glance was sufficient, and in a loud voice he added, "Lock the door, Farrant, and bring me the key.—Hartland, come here."

"If he's guilty, he's a good actor," thought Mr. Farrant, who was watching the puzzled look on the boy's face.

"Count the money in the till, Hartland—it won't take a century to do," said Mr. Broad, who intended to be sarcastic.

"Fourpence ha'penny, sir," said Jim promptly.

Without a word the stationer drew a notebook from his pocket, opened it, and laid it on the table. On the top of the page was a circle with a star in the centre, drawn in ink. Underneath was written, "One florin, 1884. One shilling, 1885. One sixpence, 1861. Sevenpence ha'penny in coppers. Silver all marked as above."

"That," said Mr. Broad, speaking very slowly and gravely, "is the amount of money in the till when I left the shop. Here"—pointing to the few coppers—"is fourpence ha'penny. Where is the rest?"

Jim's face became white as death, and he trembled violently. Beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, a film gathered before his eyes, his throat was parched, and he could not utter a word.

"Come," repeated his master sternly; "I must have an answer to my question. Where is the missing money?"

"I don't know, sir," answered Jim huskily.

"That's rubbish. No one but you has been in the shop."

"Only Johnson."

"Was he near the till?"

"That is a foolish question," thought Mr. Farrant. "Of course he'll shift the blame to the errand-boy. Broad has given him a fine chance to wriggle out of it."

The same idea flashed through Jim's mind, but he rejected it scornfully.

"No," said he, with the utmost deliberation, "he did not go near the counter. I took the bag from him myself, and he went out again."

"Then, if you didn't steal the money, where is it?" asked the stationer testily. He was really a kind-hearted man, and the miserable business upset him terribly.

"Come, my boy," said Mr. Farrant; "this is a sad case, but you will do no good by denying your guilt. Better make a clean breast of it, and trust to your master's leniency."

Now if I have drawn anything like an accurate picture of James Hartland, you will not be surprised that this well-meant suggestion made him very angry. The blood rushed to his face, his eyes glowed, and, as Dicky would have said, "the monkey was up" with a vengeance.

"I don't know that it is any business of yours," he exclaimed. "I'm responsible to my master, and not to you," which was very rude, and very ill-advised.

"Oh, all right," said Mr. Farrant; "go your own way. You'll feel a trifle less high and mighty when you've been in prison a week or two."

"It will be an awful disgrace, Hartland. You'll be ruined for life," observed Mr. Broad. "Come, my boy, tell me the truth; I have no wish to be severe with you. Where is the money?"

"I haven't seen it," answered Jim sullenly.

"This isn't the first time, you know," continued his master. "I have missed money before when you were left in charge, but I did not like to be positive. Unfortunately for you, there can be no question about it this time. If you will confess, I will forgive you, for your mother's sake; if not, I must ask my friend to fetch a policeman."

The boy shuddered at this threat. He had a strong imagination, and he instantly conjured up the whole pitiful scene. He saw himself marched to the station, and brought up next morning before the magistrates. He pictured the grief and horror in his mother's face, and thought of Susie when she should hear of what had happened.

Mr. Broad understood what was passing through his mind, and said in an encouraging tone,—

"Come; which is it to be?"

"I really can't confess anything," cried Jim hopelessly. "I have not been near the till."

"Wouldn't it be as well to search him?" suggested Mr. Farrant. "Of course he may have got rid of it; but, on the other hand, it may be in his pockets—that is," he added blandly, "assuming he is guilty of the theft."

"That seems to be a very good idea," said the stationer.—"I suppose, Hartland, you have no objection to turning out your pockets? Of course if you are innocent there can't be any objection."

"No, sir," answered Jim eagerly. "You can search me as much as you like. Shall I take my coat off?"

"Yes," said his master, "do."

They found nothing beyond a handkerchief and a few odds and ends such as every schoolboy loves to carry; and a search of the trousers pockets only revealed a knife, a piece of tarred string, a wire puzzle, and a halfpenny, which might or might not have been taken from the till.

"Have you anything in your waistcoat pockets?" asked Mr. Broad.

"No," answered Jim promptly; "there's nothing—" He stopped suddenly, and his face turned very red.

"Well?" observed his master, and the boy felt how stern the voice had become.

"I forgot," he said; "there's a sixpenny piece, but it is my own."

Mr. Farrant smiled slightly, as the stationer, producing the coin, laid it on the counter.

"I notice that it is dated 1861," remarked he, "but that may be only a coincidence." Then he turned the coin over, and pointing to a spot at the back of the Queen's head, added sorrowfully, "This, however, is hardly a coincidence."

Jim's knees knocked together as he saw quite plainly the figure of a circle with a starred centre, similar to the one in the notebook. There could be no doubt that the coin was one of those which his master had marked.

"That settles it," remarked Mr. Farrant emphatically. "Come, Broad; you had better make short work of the matter. Give him two minutes, and if he doesn't own up, let me go for a policeman."

"I am afraid I must," said the stationer sadly.—"You see, Hartland, the thing's as plain as a pikestaff; and here," tapping the coin, "is the proof. You can't explain that away."

Jim felt that he was in a desperate situation, and he doubted if even the truth would save him now. Mr. Broad might believe the story—his friend certainly would not—but, after all, it would throw no real light on the mystery.

"Well," said his master, "are you going to confess that you took this sixpence from the till?"

"No," said Jim, "because it wouldn't be true."

"Good boy!" exclaimed Mr. Farrant sarcastically; "always stick to the truth!"

By this time even Mr. Broad was inclined to lose patience; but, controlling his temper, he said, "Perhaps you will tell me how it came to be in your possession?"

"I'll tell you all about it as far as I know, though I'm afraid it won't do much good. Some weeks ago I lent a boy sixpence. His name is Peters. This evening, while you were away, he called me to the door. He came to pay back the money he had borrowed, because I had asked him for it several times."

"Did he come into the shop?" interrupted Mr. Farrant sharply.

"No; we both stood talking outside. He took the sixpence from his pocket"—Jim was scarcely correct in this—"but we were so full of our talk that he forgot to give it to me. However, he ran back with it directly he remembered, and I put it in my pocket."

"Any one with him?" asked Mr. Farrant, who was drumming softly on the counter, and smiling at what he called a cock-and-bull story.

"No," answered Jim confidently; "he was by himself."

"What sort of chap is this Peters? Respectable?"

"Well, he's very poor, sir, so I suppose folks are down on him a bit."

"Rubbish! You're poor, aren't you? Nobody's 'down' on you! Would you take him home, now, if your mother was there?"

This was a poser; and Mr. Farrant, noticing Jim's perplexity, began quite a brilliant tune with his fingers.

"Better leave it to the police, Broad," he advised. "I daresay they'll be able to supply us with information concerning the other boy. We aren't likely to get anything satisfactory in this quarter."

In truth Jim's story did not go far toward clearing his character, and of this he was fully aware. Curly Peters had given him the sixpence, but, just as certainly, he had not entered the shop. The more Jim puzzled, the more mixed things became, until at length his brain was in a perfect whirl. Still he stuck stubbornly to the main points of his statement, from which he could not be turned either by threats or blandishments.

His employer implored him for the sake of his mother and sister to tell the truth, while Mr. Farrant drew a vivid word-picture of the disgrace and misery awaiting him; but to each of them he replied in the same terms.

"I did not steal the money!" he exclaimed; "and I have told you all I know."

Mr. Farrant ceased drumming. "I'm tired of this farce, Broad," he exclaimed, "and if you don't make an end one way or another, I'm off!"

"Wait five minutes longer," pleaded Jim's master. "Now, Hartland, here is your last chance." And he laid his watch on the counter. "Tell the whole truth, and I promise solemnly that nothing more shall be heard of the business. Beyond the three of us, no one shall be any the wiser. If you still remain obstinate at the end of five minutes, I shall place the matter in the hands of the police."

Jim is not likely ever to forget that tiny fraction of his life. His master stood by his side; Mr. Farrant seated himself on the counter; no one spoke, and the only sound to break the silence was the monotonous ticking of the watch.

Five minutes—and then? The boy dared not think of it. He was pale and deadly cold, but he tried to stand firm, to hold himself erect, so that his employer should not think he was afraid.

"Two minutes more," said the stationer gravely, and then—"One minute more. Now, Hartland, seize your chance before it is too late."

Mr. Farrant slid to the ground; evidently he had quite made up his mind how the affair would end. Mr. Broad took the watch from the counter, replaced it in his pocket, and waited for the boy to answer.

Jim looked helplessly from one to the other of the two men. What could he say? How could he prove his innocence? No magistrate would believe his story, and, as likely as not, Curly would deny it, in order to save himself. A boy of Curly's doubtful character was not likely to admit being in possession of a stolen sixpence.

"It is no good," said he wearily; "I have told the truth. I am not a thief, Mr. Broad. I have never stolen a ha'penny in my life, either from you or from any one else."

CHAPTER XIII.

AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE.

When Dick Boden set off after the two boys he had no definite object in view beyond keeping them in sight. As yet he did not quite grasp the meaning of what he had seen, though his suspicions were fully aroused.

Curly and his companion displayed no particular hurry in getting clear of the neighbourhood. They strolled along quietly, and without attracting attention, for the street was deserted, and the only light was that thrown out by the public lamps.

At the first corner they stopped a moment, and then, turning to the right, plunged into a narrow but busy street, much frequented by hawkers and all kinds of barrow-merchants. Quickening his steps, Dick followed, but they were already swallowed up by the throng of people.

In the middle of the road a policeman stood on point duty, and Dick felt a strong desire to accost him; but what could he say? He had really nothing to go on except his own suspicion that in some way the two boys had been up to mischief, but the officer was not likely to interfere on that account.

Putting this idea aside, Dick edged his way through the crowd, keeping a sharp lookout for his quarry. For some time he saw nothing of them, and began to fear they had dodged up one of the narrow courts, when he caught sight of them standing by a hand-cart piled with bananas.

"All ripe! all ripe!" the owner was shouting at the top of his voice. "Here you are! Two for three-ha'pence. The finest fruit in Beauleigh.—Out o' the way, matey, if you don't want to buy; you're keeping off good customers.—Sold again, and got the money! Come on; it's like giving 'em away at the price!"

"Let's have four," said Bryant, "and don't pick out all the little uns."

"Here ye are, sonny," cried the hawker, taking the three coppers; "we're in luck to-night. Sold again!"

Bryant shared the bananas with his companion, and both fell to without delay. Evidently they were in high spirits, and enjoying themselves thoroughly, only stopping in their feast to nudge each other playfully.

"It's wonderful how flush of money they seem!" thought Dick.

While he stood watching them his mind was busy recalling the events of the evening. He pieced them all together, and, as a result, made up a pretty correct picture.

"O my aunt!" said he, "I didn't think Curly was so cute! But the dodge seems plain enough now. While Curly was bamboozling Jim, the other slipped into the shop and emptied the till. Ah, ah, you artful dodgers; that accounts for the milk in the cocoanut!"

Suddenly his satisfied smile vanished, and a shiver of fear ran through him. Why had Curly gone back? And what had he given Jim? Was it possible that his old friend formed one of the gang? No, no; he would not believe that! Jim had acted foolishly, no doubt, in taking up with these fellows, but he was not dishonest. Besides, if he wished to rob his employer, it could be done in a much simpler way.

Yet what did Curly mean by being, "square"? and why had Jim said, "It comes in very handy just now"? Had he shared the plunder without knowing it? It seemed to Dick that fifty thousand bees were buzzing in his brain.

"Broad is sure to miss the money," he thought, "and, of course, he'll charge Jim with stealing it. I wish I knew what to do! If I run back to tell him, perhaps he'll think it's a pitched-up yarn. Hullo, they're moving again."

Having finished their bananas the two boys walked on slowly, stopping now and then to speak to an acquaintance or to look at the contents of the various barrows. They did not seem at all uneasy; only once, when a policeman came their way, they separated, Bryant stepping on to the pavement just in front of Dick. A few yards farther he was rejoined by Curly, who said something to his companion which Dick could not hear.

Presently they stopped outside a small tobacconist's shop. Dick did not care to approach too closely, but he got near enough to hear that they were discussing what to buy.

At last he heard Curly say, "Them's the ones in the corner."

Apparently the other boy raised some objection which made Curly angry.

"What are you frightened of?" he said savagely. "Think I'm on the cross? You change the bob, and we'll square up afterwards."

Bryant went to the door reluctantly, but, as if unable to make up his mind, returned and whispered something to his companion. A scornful laugh greeted his remark, and without further delay he entered the shop.

All this time Dick had stood a little distance off, thinking. By a lucky accident the boys had chosen the shop kept by a man named Martin, for whom Dick had occasionally done a few odd jobs.

"I'll tell Martin," said Dick to himself, "and ask his advice."

In a minute or two Bryant, still looking rather dissatisfied, came out with a small packet of cigarettes; and, standing in the doorway of an empty shop, he proceeded to share them with his companion.

This was Dick's opportunity, and, screening himself from their view by the aid of the passers-by, he slipped into the shop, which, save for the proprietor, was fortunately empty.

"Hullo, Dick; what is it?" said the man behind the counter. "You haven't taken to smoking, have you?"

"No," said Dick, who hardly knew how to begin his curious story.

"What is it then? Anything wrong at home?"

"No; we're all right, thanks. I say, Mr. Martin, what did that chap buy who was in here just now?"

"Packet of cigarettes," answered the man, looking in surprise at his questioner.

"Would you know him again?"

"Pick him out of a thousand, if you like."

"Did he give you a shilling?"

"Eh?" said Martin, opening the till hastily, and taking out the coin. "Is it bad?" And he rang it on the counter. "Sounds all right," he added with a sigh of relief, "and there doesn't seem anything the matter with it. But one is never safe with these young sharks."

He held the coin up to the light, turning it round and round, and examining it attentively.

"Good enough," he decided, and was about to put it back, when something again arrested his attention.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "some one has scratched a circle and star here. Looks like a private mark." And he handed it to Dick.

The boy was in such a state of excitement that he could hardly see. What was the meaning of this? Had Mr. Broad, suspecting something wrong, laid a trap for Jim? It seemed very much like it. But if he had marked one coin he had probably marked others.

The very notion made Dick shudder. He felt sure that Curly had passed some money to Jim. Suppose it happened to be marked too! "Good gracious!" he thought in despair; "they'll take him to prison like a common thief! The disgrace will kill his mother!"

Noticing the agitation which Dick could not conceal, the shopkeeper said,—

"What's it all about, Dicky? I hope you haven't got mixed up in anything wrong?"

"No," answered the boy. "But trust me; I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. I must be off now; and, I say, Mr. Martin, keep that shilling by itself, will you? I shouldn't be surprised if the police want to see it."

"All right, Dick. It shall be ready for them."

"Thank you," said Dick, and left the shop.

"I wonder now," mused the shopkeeper, "what the game is. Something queer, by the youngster's showing. But he's an honest little chap, and sharp as a knife. Well, I'll put the shilling away."

Looking round, he discovered an empty tobacco tin, in which he placed the coin, and then locked it up in one of the drawers.

"No doubt the youngster will be back again, presently," he said to himself, "and I shall hear what it's all about. It's very curious, anyhow."

Meanwhile Dick, hot and flustered, was threading his way through the side street. He was too excited to steer very cautiously, but, after numerous bumps and joltings, he found himself at the top, where the traffic was less dense.

"Hullo, Dick Boden; you ought to be home and abed! There's your mother down the road with a cane looking for you." And Curly Peters, who stood on the edge of the curb puffing away at a cigarette, laughed boisterously.

Dick did not answer, but, being afraid of arousing suspicion, he walked very leisurely till he had turned the corner and was out of sight. Then he ran at his topmost speed, reaching the stationer's shop breathless and exhausted. He was approaching the door to knock when he noticed, through the side window, that the shop was brilliantly lit.

"Broad must have returned," thought he, "and perhaps brought a policeman. I wonder if they are searching Jim."

He tried to peer in, but could see nothing. Then, crouching close to the door, he listened. All was still; he could hear no sound.

"I may as well knock," he thought, and had raised his hand to do so when a man inside began speaking. "That's Broad," said Dick to himself, and directly afterwards he heard his chum's voice. Then the key turned in the lock, the door was flung open, and Dick found himself face to face with Mr. Farrant.

"Hullo!" exclaimed the latter, who was just going for a policeman; "who's this?"

Dick was rather taken aback, but he answered boldly, "If you please, I want to see Mr. Broad."

"Come again in the morning; he is busy now."

"But I can't wait," pleaded Dick. "I must see him now; it's very important."

"Let him in, Farrant," said the stationer; "he may know something of this miserable business."

"Come along then," grumbled Farrant, pulling him roughly inside and shutting the door. "Now, what have you to say? Make haste with your yarn, whatever it is!"

Dick glanced around apprehensively, and felt relieved at finding no policeman in the shop. He smiled brightly at Jim, as if to say, "Cheer up, old chap; I'll soon get you out of this scrape!" and then walked over to Mr. Broad.

"I fancy I have seen you before," said that gentleman. "Aren't you one of Hartland's friends?"

"Yes, sir," replied Dick promptly; "Jim and I are old friends."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Farrant, showing a sudden interest in the conversation; "is your name Peters?"

"No," replied Dick in surprise; "my name's Boden, but Peters has something to do with what I've come about.—Have you lost any money, Mr. Broad?"

"I've been robbed of some," answered Jim's employer sternly.

"Was there a shilling amongst it?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I'll tell you soon, sir," said Dick; "but I want to make sure of my ground first. I should like to ask if there was a circle with a starred centre scratched on it?"

"Yes," replied the stationer, now thoroughly interested—"the same mark as on the sixpence which has been found in your friend Hartland's pocket."

"I hope you don't think Jim a thief, sir. He wouldn't steal a pin."

"We aren't listening to testimonials of character," remarked Mr. Farrant dryly; "they can be left to the magistrates. But now, just tell us how you come to know anything about this business."

Jim had not said a word. On seeing his chum his face had become white, and he hardly dared look at him. By degrees, however, he became more composed; and when Dick spoke so emphatically about his honesty, the warm blood surged to his face. Somehow he felt that in some mysterious way Dick would be able to prove his innocence, and his heart grew light at the thought.

Mr. Farrant prepared to listen with a cynical smile, but Mr. Broad was anxious to give a favourable hearing to anything that might help to clear Jim's character.

CHAPTER XIV.

CURLY AND COMPANY.

"Before Jim came here to work," began Dick, clearing his throat, "we were generally together in the evenings. Since then, of course, he hasn't had much time; but now and then I've been up to wait for him. Coming up this evening I met Mr. Broad, and just afterwards Curly Peters with a boy named Bryant."

"Is this Peters a friend of yours?" interrupted Mr. Farrant.

"No," replied Dick; "and I've never had anything to do with him. I thought a long time ago that he wasn't up to much."

"All right; go on."

"Well, thinking they were going to see Jim, I turned back, and they acted in such a funny way that I became curious. First of all, Bryant followed Mr. Broad, very likely to see where he went; then they walked up to the shop."

"Where were you?"

"On the other side of the road. Curly went to the shop, while the other chap hid in the next doorway. Presently Jim came out; and, after a time, Curly managed to draw him away from the door a bit. Then Bryant slipped into the shop, and was back again almost before you could say 'Jack Robinson!'"

"Why didn't you call out?"

"That wouldn't have done any good. Besides, Curly was on the move directly. He joined his mate down the street, got something from him, and ran back all in a breath to give it to Jim."

The two men exchanged significant glances. Thus far, at any rate, the story fitted in very well with the suspected boy's assertions.

"But if you knew these boys had been thieving, I can't understand why you did not tell your chum," said Mr. Farrant.

"I didn't know for certain," responded Dick promptly. "Besides, I thought the best thing was to keep an eye on them."

"That's reasonable enough."

"And it was lucky I did, too. I followed them into West Street, where they bought three pennyworth of bananas. Then they went on to a tobacconist's, and Bryant bought a packet of cigarettes. He paid for them with a shilling."

"How do you know that?"

"Because directly he came out I went in and asked the man. His name's Martin, and he knows me. He doesn't know Bryant; but he could recognize him."

"And what about the shilling?"

"Martin is taking care of it in case it's wanted. And so, sir, the whole thing's as plain as anything, you see. They just diddled Jimmy, and there you are.—How came he to give you the sixpence, Jim?"

"To pay back one that I lent him a month ago."

Mr. Broad was quite satisfied of the truth of Dick's story. It cleared Hartland. Even with the marked coin before him he had somehow doubted the boy's guilt. His friend showed himself rather more sceptical; but he, too, admitted that the two stories fitted in admirably.

"We had better go to the tobacconist's," said he, "and then give information to the police. I suppose there won't be much chance of tracing the florin."

"If Curly doesn't know it's marked," said Dick, "he'll stick to it till the shilling's gone, and then I expect Bryant won't get much of a share."

"Then he mustn't be allowed to suspect anything," said Mr. Farrant.—"Broad, suppose you go along with this amateur detective and identify the shilling. I'll lock up and meet you later at the police station."

"What about Hartland?"

"Hum! If this Peters sees him with any of us the florin will soon be a minus quantity.—Can you get home without his seeing you?"

"Yes; over Cannon Hill and round by the Park. He isn't likely to be there."

"Well, I suppose we must trust you, though I don't half like it. However, take care, for your own sake, that you do not meet him."

"Come as usual in the morning, Hartland," added his master. "You will be required to give evidence at the police-court."

"And thank your lucky stars," remarked Mr. Farrant, "that you won't be in the dock. Your friend here has saved you from that."

Jim recognized this fact fully, and was never slow to acknowledge it either to himself or to others. Slinking home by a roundabout way, he entered the house, where his mother was awaiting him somewhat anxiously.

"You're late, my boy," said she. "I'm afraid your supper has got cold."

"It doesn't matter, mother, thank you. I'm not hungry."

His mother looked curiously at him, wondering what had happened.

"Don't you feel well?" she asked.

"My head aches a bit. There's been a bother at the shop."

"Try to eat your supper," said she gently. "You can tell me about it afterwards."

Jim did his best in order to please her, but the attempt was not very successful. He was thinking of his marvellous escape, and how, but for Dick, he would now be locked up in a prison cell. His mother watched him closely, and with something like fear in her heart; but, being a tactful woman, she did not press him to tell her his story.

It came out at last, little by little, and the boy did not spare himself. After all, beyond the folly of associating with unprincipled companions, he had done little of which to be really ashamed.

His mother did not interrupt him once; but Jim will never forget the look in her eyes when he told her of the finding of the marked coin, and of his narrow escape from prison.

"Where is Dick now?" she asked when he had finished.

"Gone with the master to give information to the police. I expect he will come in on his way home; but don't you think we ought to tell his mother? She may be fidgeting about him."

"Yes; I will go round at once."

Putting on her hat and jacket, she went out, leaving Jim to wonder if the marked florin would be found in Curly's possession. A great deal might depend on that.

Meanwhile, Dick having piloted the worthy stationer to the tobacconist's shop, where the shilling was at once identified, accompanied him to the police station. Here they were shown into a sparsely-furnished room, where an inspector sat at a table writing.

After Mr. Broad had given an outline of the case, Dick was called on for his story, which he related in the most straightforward and convincing manner.

"Simple enough," remarked the police inspector, "especially if we can find the florin;" and, ringing a bell, he ordered the man who answered it to send Pedder to him.

Pedder was a short, stout, bull-necked man in plain clothes, who, in answer to his superior, said: "Curly Peters? Oh yes, I know the young gentleman quite well. I've been expecting to put my hand on his shoulder for a long time."

"And a lad named Bryant?" asked the inspector, reporting Dick's description of him.

Pedder shook his head. "I've seen a chap with Curly, but don't know anything of him, good or bad."

"Well, take a man with you and bring them both here. Be sure that Peters has no chance to get rid of any money."

"Very good, sir," said Pedder, looking at the clock. "The round trip oughtn't to take more than half an hour, if I've any luck."

"Sit down, Mr. Broad—and you, my boy," said the inspector, who immediately resumed his writing, and did not look up again till Mr. Farrant was shown into the room.

Five minutes after the half-hour there was a scuffling noise in the passage, the door was thrown open, and in marched Curly Peters and Bryant in the custody of the two plain-clothes policemen.

Curly looked about him with easy self-assurance. His companion, on the contrary, was white and trembling, and would have fallen but for the officer's support.

"Search them!" said the inspector briefly.

"You won't find anything on me but my own money," said Curly defiantly. "I've only a two-shilling piece, which I worked hard enough for, too. I earned it yesterday, carrying boxes on the quay."

"You'd better keep a still tongue," advised the inspector gruffly. "All you say may be used as evidence against you."

"I ain't afraid of telling the truth," responded Curly boldly.

Presently the search was over, and Dick heaved a sigh of satisfaction when Pedder placed a florin on the table. Bryant's share of the plunder had dwindled to twopence halfpenny.

"Can you identify this coin, Mr. Broad?"

"Yes," said the stationer, after examining it carefully; "here is my private mark quite plain."

"And the tobacconist can identify the boy from whom he received the marked shilling?"

"I took him to the shop," said the second officer, "and he knew him in an instant."

When all the formalities were concluded, the two boys were marched off, Curly throwing a savage glance at Dick, and muttering, "I'll pay you out for this!" as he passed.

"I think there is nothing further now," said the inspector to Mr. Broad. "Of course you will be present in the morning. As to the shop-boy, I hardly know whether he should not have been charged with the others; but no doubt we shall get at the truth when the case comes before the magistrates."

"Jim Hartland didn't know anything about it, sir!" cried Dick, who was bold as a lion in defence of his friend.

"Perhaps not, perhaps not!" replied the inspector testily. "However, we shall soon see."

As soon as he could get away, Dick ran off to Brook Street, knowing that his chum would be anxiously awaiting him. As a matter of fact Jim stood at the gate, and on seeing Dick he cried eagerly, "Did you catch them? Had Peters spent the money?"

"Make yourself easy, old chap!" laughed Dick; "it's all right. Curly had the florin, and he gave himself away before knowing it was marked."

"Did he try to drag me into it?"

"No. Don't pull such a long face. The truth is bound to come out. I shall be surprised if Bryant doesn't own up; he's nearly frightened to death. Well, I must be off; mother will think I'm lost."

"She knows where you are; we told her."

"That's a good chap. She's been awfully fidgety since Dandy Braithwaite was drowned. Well, ta-ta! See you in the morning, as the fisherman said when he popped the trout into his basket."

"You won't come in?"

"I'd rather not. Wait till this affair's done with, and we'll celebrate the event in fine style."

"Good-night, then. I can't thank you properly just now, but I shan't forget in a hurry what you've done for me."

"All right, old fellow! I know." And Dick went off whistling.

Jim closed the gate softly, but did not go into the house for some time. Thus far—thanks to Dick—all had gone well; but there was still a prospect of danger. Suppose Curly, finding himself trapped, endeavoured to throw the blame on him. He might even assert that he, Jim, had planned the robbery, and had knowingly shared the plunder.

The magistrates might doubt such a tale, but some people would believe it, and in their eyes he would be a thief.

"Oh yes," they would say, "that's the lad who was mixed up in the till robbery. Nothing was proved against him, you know, but—" And then there would be expressive glances and waggings of heads.

Again, he could hardly expect Mr. Broad to continue to employ him. Of course he would be dismissed, and no one would care to engage a boy who had lost his situation under such suspicious circumstances. It seemed to him just then that he had recklessly spoiled his career before it had fairly begun. His thoughts were very, very bitter; but he had not altogether lost his moral courage, and readily confessed that he was only reaping what he had sown. This, however, was but poor consolation, and it was with a heavy heart that he at last went into the house.

"Dick has brought good news, mother," he cried, trying to speak cheerfully: "the police have caught Peters with the money on him. I am going to bed now. We shall have to be up early in the morning." And he kissed her good-night.

CHAPTER XV.

"WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT."

Fortunately for Jim's peace of mind the next day was not a particularly busy one at the police court. He and Dick sat with Mr. Broad and the tobacconist in the space reserved for witnesses, while in the public portion of the building only a few people besides his mother and Mrs. Boden had assembled.

Presently a small side-door was opened, and the two youthful prisoners took their places in the dock. Curly was still smiling and cheerful, but his companion in misfortune looked even more miserable than on the preceding night.

When the charge had been read over, Mr. Broad proceeded to make his statement, describing how he had marked the coins and placed them in the till, and how, on returning to the shop, he had found they were gone.

Then Jim went into the witness-box, feeling horribly uncomfortable. He thought the two magistrates regarded him contemptuously, and as if they thought his proper place was in the dock with the prisoners. However, he managed to give a connected account of what had passed, and was stepping down again when one of the magistrates observed, "If this witness speaks the truth, it is clear that the prisoner Peters could not have been in the shop."

"I wasn't, sir," spoke up Curly. "I never put my foot inside it."

"We suggest that he was acting as a blind," said the inspector—"that he engaged the shop-boy's attention while the other prisoner stole the money. I think the next witness will make that clear."

"Very well," said the magistrate; "let him he called."

"Richard Boden!"

Dick stepped into the box, took the oath, and began his story without the least hesitation. As he proceeded Curly's confident smile began to fade: the witness was not leaving him a single loophole for escape. The evidence was so clear and simple and yet so conclusive that, as one constable remarked in a whisper, the prisoners had not "the ghost of a chance."

"Uncommon smart boy that," he added graciously. "Ought to join the force when he's old enough."

When Dick had finished, Sir Thomas Arkell, the senior magistrate, a tall, stout man with bristling moustache, leaning forward, said, "I congratulate you on the way in which you have given your evidence, my lad." And the compliment was well deserved.

Martin, the tobacconist, then identified Bryant as the boy who had paid him the marked shilling, and the officers deposed to searching the prisoners and finding the florin on Peters. No one had any doubt of their guilt, but several people thought Jim very lucky in not having been placed with them.

However, Curly did not quite despair of getting off. Certainly he would leave his accomplice in the lurch, but that misfortune he was prepared to bear philosophically.

"I didn't steal the money!" he protested energetically, "and I didn't know it was stole. It will teach me a lesson, though, to mind who I takes up with another time. This all comes of being pals with Sam Bryant. Last night I met him in West Street. He said he had won some money on a race, and asked me to mind a two-shilling piece. He said he durstn't take it home for fear his father would nab it. And that's the solemn truth, gentlemen! Why, I'd no more think of stealing a penny than of swallowing it!"

Now, fortunately for Jim, Curly's frantic effort to save himself roused Bryant from his stupor. Hitherto he had displayed no interest in the proceedings, but now, glaring savagely at his companion, he exclaimed in a shrill voice, "Oh, that's it, is it? I am to bear all the blame, am I? Well, then, I'll just tell the truth. Curly made friends with Jim Hartland on purpose to get him to rob the till. Curly sounded him several times, but could make nothing of him, so we agreed to do it ourselves. We went in two or three times before, but didn't get much. Last night seemed a good chance, and Curly agreed to get Hartland out of the way. I got three and ninepence altogether, and out of that Curly gave Hartland sixpence that he owed him. I ain't going to prison by myself, when Curly Peters had more to do with it than me!"

"I told you it would come out!" whispered Dick to his chum.

The magistrates consulted together for a few minutes, and then the two prisoners were remanded, with a view to being sent to a reformatory.

As this was the last case set down for hearing, the people began to leave the court; and Mr. Broad, turning to Jim with a smiling face, said,—

"I am glad you have come out of it so well, Hartland. I am sorry I suspected you at all, but at one time things looked rather black against you, eh? However, you've had your lesson, and I hope you will profit by it. By the way, I shall be glad if you can come an hour earlier this afternoon. This wretched business has thrown the work back a good deal."

"Are you going to keep me on, sir?" asked Jim, who could scarcely believe his own ears.

"Keep you on? Of course! Why not? You've been a pretty silly chap in choosing your friends, but that won't happen again. There, there; don't thank me." And the worthy stationer bustled away, leaving Jim with flushed face and sparkling eyes. This was a greater piece of good fortune than he had dared hope for.

In the corridor he found his mother with Mrs. Boden; and directly afterwards Dick, who had suddenly disappeared, ran up waving his cap and hardly able to keep from hurrahing.

"O my aunt!" cried he; "here's a stroke of good luck! Let's go outside, where I can tell you all about it. You'll never guess where I've been."

"You had better tell us, then," said his mother.

"So I will. Don't get too excited, now. What do you think of an interview with Sir Thomas Arkell in the magistrates' room? I thought you'd open your eyes. O my—"

"Never mind your aunt," said Jim, laughing; "we're dying to hear about the interview."

"Well, while you were talking to Mr. Broad, a policeman came up and asked if I was Richard Boden. When I told him I was, he said, 'Come this way. Sir Thomas wishes to speak to you.' He was a solemn old chap, and marched along like a mute at a funeral. I began to feel frightened."

"I wish I'd been there to see you, Dicky," said Mrs. Hartland.

"Well, it really was enough to make me nervous," declared Dick. "However, at last he knocked at a door; some one said, 'Come in,' and there was Sir Thomas standing with his back to the fire.

"'Ah,' said he—and he isn't half as fierce as he looks—'are you Richard Boden?'

"'Yes, sir.'

"'Well, I wanted to say I was very pleased with you this morning. Where do you go to school?' And when I told him, he said, 'I suppose your master can give you a good character?'

"'I think he will, sir,' I answered; and then he wrote down my name and the name of the school in a notebook.

"'I will see Mr. Holmore,' he said; 'and should the result be satisfactory, as I have no doubt it will, I shall find a berth for you in my business.'"

"O Dick!" exclaimed his mother, "it sounds too good to be true!"

"It's true enough," cried Dick gaily, throwing his cap into the air. "Don't you hear the bells, 'Turn again, Richard, Lord Mayor of Beauleigh'? Why, it's as simple as anything: just like going upstairs. Office-boy, clerk, confidential clerk, manager, partner—Arkell and Boden! We'll hang out a big signboard when that time comes. Hurrah! Trot along, Jimmy!"

"You might both run on," suggested Mrs. Hartland, "and get a cup of tea ready for us."

"Rather a drop from the Lord-Mayor business, isn't it?" laughed Dick good-humouredly. "Still, it's as well to make use of me while you can."

That afternoon has often been talked of since. Every one was in good spirits, and Dick rattled on like a merry madcap, building, half in jest, half in earnest, golden castles in the air. To judge by his remarks when Mrs. Hartland began talking of his kindness to Jim, the whole affair had been got up specially for his benefit.

"It's I who have to thank Jim," he laughed. "But for him I shouldn't have had an interview with Sir Thomas!" adding solemnly, "I won't forget you, Jim; you shall have a ticket for my mayoral banquet, and shall sit near me."

"Thanks," replied Jim humbly; "I shall be satisfied with a seat at the bottom of the table."

"What a rattle-pate you are, Dick!" laughed Mrs. Hartland. "How poor Susie would enjoy being here now!"

"Is the doctor really doing her good?" asked Dick's mother.

"He thinks so. He is trying a wonderful new discovery of some foreign doctor, and the nurse told me on Sunday he's more than satisfied with the result."

"Hurrah for Dr. Stewart!" cried Dick; "he's a fine fellow. I'll keep a place for him on my visiting-list."

Thus they laughed and chattered, enjoying themselves in an innocent way, and endeavouring to banish the disagreeable incidents of the morning, until it was time for Jim to start for work.

"I may as well walk with you as far as the shop," said Dick, going out with him; "I feel like a fish out of water, not being at school to-day. Won't there be a buzz when the fellows hear the news?"

"Too much for me. I don't think I shall go back."

"What?" Dicky turned and looked his chum full in the face. "Surely you aren't going to show the white feather, old man. Why, that would be just giving the fellows a stick to beat you with."

"It is easy to talk," said Jim, "but I don't want to see sour looks and hear sneering remarks every day. I know what chaps like Simpson will say."

"And I know what they'll say if you don't turn up."

For some distance the two boys walked in silence. Jim was thinking. His chum was right, of course. It would be much braver and more manly to "face the music;" but he shrank, and perhaps naturally, from the ordeal. Besides, he would be leaving in any case at the end of a few weeks, and why should he go out of his way to suffer misery for the sake of a fad?

"Here we are nearly at the shop," cried Dick, stopping suddenly. "You will come in the morning, won't you?"

"I won't promise," said Jim slowly.

I think that at this juncture it was the boy's master who proved his guardian angel. He greeted him cheerily, and showed by every means in his power that he had confidence in his honesty. This absolute trust brought back Jim's self-respect. If his employer believed in his innocence, why should he trouble himself about the sneers of others? His courage gradually rose; he threw off the gloom that hung about him. He determined to hold up his head and bear himself bravely, whatever happened.

"'Twill be jolly hard, I know," he said to himself; "but I'll live it down." And his heart grew lighter as he registered the resolve.

"By the way, Hartland," remarked his employer later in the evening, "I have been thinking we might make a fresh arrangement. I should like you to stay all day, and you might start on Monday."

"I'd rather not begin till the holidays, sir," said Jim, with an effort.

"Why not?"

"Because, because—well, they might say I was afraid to go back to school."

"Well, it won't be particularly pleasant," replied Mr. Broad, "and that is partly why I made the offer. But yours is the better plan, and I wish you luck, my boy."

"Thank you, sir," returned Jim, brightly, though in his heart he could not help wishing that the next day was safely over.

CHAPTER XVI.

A FRESH START.

The police-court proceedings created a great sensation at the Deanery, and were canvassed with characteristic schoolboy freedom. Dick, of course, received much praise; and on his arrival, just before opening time, he was surrounded by an admiring group. However, he bore his blushing honours meekly, remarking that he had done nothing in particular.

"Your being there was a lucky thing for Jim Hartland, though," observed Alec Macdonald.

"A good many people think there's more in it than came out!" sneered Simpson. "I shouldn't like to be caught with a marked sixpence in my pocket!"

"You're just a cad!" cried Dick hotly, "and no one cares a brass button what you say. As to Hartland, he showed more grit in five minutes than you'd show in five centuries."

"How's that?" cried several boys eagerly.

"That's part of what Simpson says didn't come out. Of course you know old Broad found the sixpence on him. Well, he's a good sort, though at first he did think Jim guilty. 'Look here, Hartland,' said he; 'you'd better own up. You're certain to be sent to prison, because, even if you're innocent, you can't prove it.' Well, what did Jim answer?"

"He wasn't likely to give the show away, anyhow!" said Simpson.

"Broad didn't ask him to. 'Just admit you stole the money, and you'll hear no more of it,' said he. 'I'll hush it up, and no one will be any the wiser.'"

"That was handsome," remarked several of the boys.

"Yes," agreed Dick, "but Jim wasn't taking any 'Send me to prison for life if you like,' said Jim; 'I shan't confess to what I didn't do!'"

"Good old Jim!" cried Alec Macdonald. "He always was a plucky beggar." And the others echoed his cry.

Few of them believed he was mixed up in the robbery, and Dick's story was received with acclamation. A sudden revulsion of feeling took place, and those who had looked rather coldly on Jim since the fatal accident to Braithwaite now spoke loudly in his defence.

Just as the bell rang he was seen coming in at the gate, and quite a number of boys ran across to meet him.

Once more Alec Macdonald voiced the general sentiment.

"We're jolly glad you got out of that mess, Jim," he exclaimed, "and we know it wasn't your fault."

Jim blushed like a peony; his eyes were suspiciously moist, and he felt a choking sensation in his throat. This reception differed altogether from what he had expected. He looked at the group of boys and tried to answer, but his words were very stammering.

"This is—very—kind—of you chaps," he managed to say, "and I didn't expect it."

"Come on!" cried Dick; "there's Mr. Laythorne! He'll be giving us an extra half-hour's grind." And they scudded away to their places like so many rabbits into a warren.

Jim's class-fellows were not alone in expressing their belief in his innocence. After prayers, and before beginning morning work, Mr. Laythorne, standing before his class, said, "I am glad to see you in your place again, Hartland. We have all heard of your trouble, and we all rejoice that you have come through it so triumphantly. I am speaking not only for myself and the boys, but for all the masters, including Mr. Holmore. Let me say for all of us that we are quite convinced of your honesty."

"Yes, yes!" murmured the class approvingly.

"Thank you, sir," said Jim. "I'm—" But he got no farther. Cold looks he had steeled himself to meet, and angry words he would have thrown back with interest, but this kindness broke him down utterly. The tears would come into his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. The young master said nothing further, thinking it best not to disturb him. He had always felt great interest in Jim, and no one had been more disappointed at his failure to gain a high place in the Gayton Scholarship list.

Several times recently he had endeavoured to save him from drifting, but without success; now he resolved to make another effort.

"He is a clever boy, and ought to do well," he said to himself thoughtfully, "but lately he seems to have got into a set of cross currents. One would think he had thrown that Gayton Scholarship away deliberately."

Mr. Laythorne was not aware how very severely Jim had been handicapped; but that same afternoon, during a talk with Dick Boden on quite another subject, he learned the truth. When school was dismissed, he called Dick to him and said, "By the way, Boden, I have to congratulate you. Sir Thomas Arkell has been to see the head-master, who referred him to me. I was glad to be able to report favourably on your conduct, and he has decided in consequence to take you on at his place as soon as the holidays begin."

"Thank you, sir," answered Dick gratefully. "Mother meant me to stay a little longer, but we can't afford to miss this chance, and I shall be able to attend the continuation school."

"I hope you will. Well, it appears we shall both be leaving the dear old Deanery together."

Dick glanced up hastily, saying, "Are you going away from Beauleigh, sir?"

"Yes. It will soon be known now. I have been appointed to a school in Portsmouth."

"The boys will be sorry," exclaimed Dick, "and glad too—sorry on their own account, and glad on yours."