"You're preaching at me," said Jack suspiciously; "it's altogether different in my case."

"No, I'm not preaching; I'm only telling you a story. Now go and find my little Bar, and say I've got some bits of dough left, and if she likes she can come and make a pasty."

Barbara came, and Jack assisted her in the manufacture of two shapeless little turn-overs, which contained an extraordinary mixture of apples, currants, sugar, and a sprinkling of cocoa put in "to see what it would taste like." But the boy's attention was not given wholly to the work, his mind was partly occupied with something else. He wandered over and stood at the opposite end of the table, watching Queen Mab as she put the finishing touch to her pie-crust, twisting up the edge into her own particular pattern.

"I don't see why people shouldn't wish for something better when they have nothing but bad luck," he said.

"I don't think people ever do have nothing but bad luck."

"Yes, they do, and I'm one of them. I hate people who're always preaching about being contented with one's lot."

"You intend that for me, I suppose," said his aunt, slyly. "All right; if you weren't out of reach I'd shake the flour dredge over you!"

"No, you know I don't mean you," said the boy, laughing. "And I have had one stroke of good luck, and that was your asking me to Brenlands."

He went away, and told Valentine the story of Colonel Lawrence.

"I didn't think she knew anything about soldiers."

"She's a wonderful woman!" said Valentine, solemnly. "She knows everything!"

The following morning, as the two cousins were constructing an advanced trench in a supposed siege of the cucumber-frame, Helen came out and handed her brother a letter. Valentine read it, and passed id on to Jack.

"What d'you think of that?" he asked.

The epistle was a short one, and ran as follows:—

"GRENFORD MANOR, "Tuesday.

"DEAR VALENTINE,—I want five shillings to square the man whose hayrick we set fire to the other day. If you fellows will give one half-crown, I'll give the other. Send it me by return certain, or there'll be a row.—Yours truly,

"RAYMOND FOSBERTON."

"Pooh! I like his cheek!" cried Jack. "At the time he said it was the sun; and now he says, 'the hayrick we set on fire,' when he knows perfectly well it was entirely his own doing. I should think he's rich enough to find the five shillings himself."

"Oh, he's always short of money, and trying to borrow from somebody," answered Valentine. "The thing I don't understand is, what good five shillings can be; the man would want more than that for his hay."

"I don't understand Master Raymond," said Jack. "What shall you do?"

"Well, as we were all there together, I suppose we ought to try to help him out. The damage ought to be made good; I thought he would have got Uncle Fosberton to do that. I'll send him the money; though I should like to know how he's going to square the man with five shillings."

A description of half the pleasures and merry-making that went to make up a holiday at Brenlands would need a book to itself, and it would therefore be impossible for me to attempt to give an account of all that happened. The jollification was somehow very different from much of the fun which Fenleigh J. had been accustomed to indulge in, in company with his associates in the Upper Fourth; and though it was not a whit less enjoyable, yet after it was over no one was heard to remark that they'd "had their cake, and now they must pay for it."

On the last morning but one, when the boys came down to breakfast, they found Queen Mab making a great fuss over something that had come by post.

"Isn't it kind of your father?" she said. "Look what he's sent me!"

The present was handed round. It was a gold brooch, containing three locks of hair arranged like a Prince of Wales's plume, two light curls, and a dark one in the middle—Valentine's, Helen's, and Barbara's.

"He says it's to remind me of my three chicks when they are not with me at Brenlands."

"Mine's in the middle!" cried Barbara.

"You ought to have some of Jack's put in as well," said Helen.

The boy glanced across at her with a pleased expression.

"Oh, no," he answered, "not alongside of yours."

During the remainder of the morning he seemed unusually silent, and directly after dinner he disappeared.

"D'you know where Jack is?" asked Valentine.

"No," answered Helen; "he went out into the road just now, but I have not seen him since."

It was a broiling day, and the children spent the greater part of the afternoon reading under the shade of some trees in the garden. They were just sitting down to tea when their cousin reappeared, covered with dust, and looking very hot and tired. He refused to say what he had been doing, and in answer to a fire of questions as to where he had been he replied evasively, "Oh, only along the road for a walk."

"Look sharp!" said Valentine, bolting his last mouthful of cake, "we're going to have one more game of croquet. Come on, you girls, and help me to put up the hoops."

Jack, who in the course of his travels had acquired a prodigious thirst, lingered behind to drink a fourth cup of tea.

"You silly boy," said his aunt, "where have you been?"

"To Melchester."

"To Melchester! You don't mean to say you've walked there and back in this blazing sun?"

"Yes, I have. I wanted to get something."

"What?"

The boy rose from his chair, and came round to the head of the table.

"That's it," he said, producing a little screw of tissue paper from his pocket. "It's for you. It's only a cheap, common thing, but I hadn't any more money."

The paper was unrolled, and out came a little silver locket.

"I didn't want the others to see—you mustn't ever let any one know. There's a bit of my hair inside."

"Now, then, don't stay there guzzling tea all night!" came Valentine's voice through the open window.

"But, my dear boy, whatever made you spend your money in giving me such a pretty present?"

"I want," answered the boy, speaking as though half ashamed of the request he was making—"I want you to wear it when you wear the brooch; stick it somewhere on your chain. I should like, don't you know, to feel I'm one of your family."

"So you are," answered Queen Mab, kissing him. "So you are, and always will be—my own boy Jack!"



CHAPTER VII.

STRIFE IN THE UPPER FOURTH.

"'You are exceedingly ugly,' said the wild ducks."—The Ugly Duckling.

School was a great change after Brenlands. The rooms seemed barer, the desks more inky, and the bread and butter a good eighth of an inch thicker than they had been at the close of the previous term; but by the end of the first week our two friends had settled to work, and things were going on much the same as usual.

Considerable alterations had been made in the composition of the Upper Fourth. Most of the occupants of the front row of benches had got their remove, while a number of boys from the lower division, of whom Valentine was one, had come up to join Mr. Rowlands' class. The Long Dormitory was also changed, and Jack now found himself in Number Eight, sleeping in a bed next to that of his cousin.

Being thus so much thrown together, both in and out of school, it was only natural that the friendship which they had formed in the holidays should be still more firmly established. Only one thing acted as a drag upon it, and that was the fact of Jack's still finding a strong counter-attraction in the society of Garston, Rosher, and Teal.

The quartette began the term badly by being largely responsible for a disturbance which occurred in the dining-hall, when a clockwork frog was suddenly discovered disporting itself in Pilson's teacup; and it is probable that Jack would have continued to distinguish himself as a black sheep, in company with his three unruly classmates, had it not been for an unforeseen occurrence which caused him to make a change in his choice of friends.

As not unfrequently happens, the few original members of the Upper Fourth who had not been called upon to "come up higher" still clung to their old position at the bottom of the class, while the front benches were filled by their more industrious schoolfellows who had earned promotion. This state of affairs was not altogether pleasing to some of the old hands. In Garston's opinion, the ideal Form was one which would have no top, and where everybody would be bottom; and when the first week's "order" was read out, he remarked, concerning those new-comers who had won the posts of honour, that it was "like their blessed cheek," and that some of them wanted a licking. Teal was entirely at one with his chum in this opinion, and showed his approval of the latter's sentiments by laying violent hands upon the person of Hollis, the head boy, making a playful pretence of wringing his neck, and then kicking his bundle of books down a flight of stairs. Hollis, a weakly, short-sighted youth, threatened to complain to Mr. Rowlands; which course of action, as may be supposed, did not tend to increase his popularity with his new classmates.

The very next morning the dogs of war broke loose. The boys were construing the portion of Virgil which had been set them overnight. Garston, who came last, had floundered about for a few moments among the closing lines, giving vent to a few incoherent sputterings, and every one was impatiently awaiting the first tinkle of the bell.

"Yes, Garston," said Mr. Rowlands, "that's certainly up to your usual form—quite a brilliant display; I'll give you naught. Let me see: I set the lesson to the end of the page, and told you to go further if you could; has any one done any more?"

"I have, sir," said Hollis; "shall I go on?"

The master nodded, Hollis proceeded, and Valentine, who stood second, also followed in turn with a continuation of the translation. He had only got through a couple of lines when the bell rang, and the class was dismissed. Hardly had the door closed behind them, when Rosher and Teal charged along the passage and seized hold of Valentine and Hollis. The other boys crowded round in a circle.

"Look here, my good chap," said Teal, "in future you'll have to drop that; d'you hear?"

"Drop what?"

"Why, doing more work than what's set."

"But why shouldn't I?" said Hollis. "There's no harm in it; he didn't give us any marks."

"You young fool! don't you see that if you do more than what's set, he'll think we can all do the same, and make the lessons longer."

"Of course he will!" added several voices.

"Just you mind what you're up to," continued Teal, "or you'll get what you won't like."

"Pass on there! What are you waiting for?" cried Mr. Rowlands, appearing in the doorway of his classroom, and the gathering dispersed.

The following morning, as fate would have it, nearly the same thing happened again, only this time during the hour devoted to algebra.

"Has any one had time to do any of the next set of examples?" asked Mr. Rowlands. "If so, let him hold up his hand."

Only two boys held up their hands—Hollis and Valentine. There were murmurs of discontent at the back of the room, and several fists were shaken ominously.

Jack had not troubled to side with either party—it mattered very little to him whether the lessons were long or short, as he only did as much as he felt inclined—but, if anything, his sympathies lay with his less industrious comrades, who, he considered, had very good ground for feeling aggrieved with Hollis and his cousin.

"Look here, Val," he said, when they met at the close of morning school, "what d'you want to go and work so beastly hard for?"

"I don't."

"No, perhaps you don't, because you're clever; but you're always doing more than you're obliged to, and the other chaps don't like it, because they say it'll make Rowlands set longer pieces."

"Oh, that's all rubbish! It's simply because they're waxy with us for getting above them in class. I don't see why I should take my orders from Rosher and Teal, and only do what they like; and I don't intend to either."

"All right, my boy," answered Jack, carelessly. "Do what you like, only look out for squalls."

The latter piece of advice was not at all unnecessary; for soon after this, as the giver was strolling across the gravel playground, he heard his name called, and looking round saw his cousin hurrying after him with a scrap of paper in his hand.

"Look," he said; "I found this in my desk just now, and there was one just like it in Hollis's."

Jack took the paper. It was an anonymous note, printed in capitals to disguise the handwriting; and it ran as follows:—

"This is to give you fair warning, that if you will persist in doing more work than what is set, you'll get a thrashing. The rest of the class don't intend to get more work on your account, and so have decided not to put up with your nonsense any longer."

"It was Rosher or one of those chaps wrote it," said Jack. "You'd better look out; any one of them could give you a licking."

"They'd have to try first," answered Valentine, hotly.

His cousin laughed; the reply rather tickled his fancy.

Those concerned had not long to wait before matters came to a head. That same afternoon Mr. Rowlands set a history lesson for the following day. "Take the reign of Elizabeth," he said. "By-the-bye, there's a genealogical tree at the end of the chapter; get that up if you can."

The examination next morning was a written one, and the last question on the board was, "Show, by means of a genealogical tree, the connection between the Tudors and the Stuarts."

"Please, sir," said Garston, "you told us we needn't do that."

"I said you were to get it up if you had time," returned the master. "Haven't any of you done it?"

"Yes, sir," came from the front desk.

"Very well; let those who have learned it write it down."

"Val, my boy," said Jack, in his happy-go-lucky style, as they met in the dormitory to change for football, "you just keep your eyes open; you're going to get licked."

Valentine replied with a snort of defiance, and the subject was dropped. Tea was over, and in the short respite between the end of the meal and the commencement of "prep.," Jack was strolling down one of the passages, when his attention was attracted by a certain small boy who stood beneath a gas-jet scanning the contents of a small book, and occasionally scribbling something on a half-sheet of exercise-book paper. Suddenly the youngster flung down the book in a rage, and kicked it across the passage, whereupon Jack promptly cried, "No goal!"

"Hallo, little Garston!" he continued, "what's up with you?"

"Why, I've got to write out the translation of some of this Caesar for old Thorpe, and I can't make head or tail of the blessed stuff. I say, Fenleigh, you might do a bit for me!"

Jack was a good-natured young vagabond. "Where is it?" he said, picking up the book. "All right! here goes."

Garston Minor slapped his piece of paper up against the wall, and wrote at his friend's dictation. The translation was not very accurate, but coming from the lips of a fellow in the Upper Fourth it was accepted without question by the juvenile, and in ten minutes the rough copy of the imposition was finished.

"Thanks awfully!" said the youngster, as he stuffed the book and paper back into his pocket. "Look here, Fenleigh; as you've done me a good turn, I'll let you into a secret, only you must promise not to let my brother know who told you. He and Teal and Rosher are going to give your cousin a licking."

"How d'you know?"

"I heard them talking about it. They said, 'We'll lick Valentine Fenleigh. If we touched Hollis, he'd sneak; but it'll frighten him if we thrash the other chap.'"

"When are they going to do it?"

"Now—some time; they said soon after tea."

"Where?" cried Jack.

"I can't tell you; they didn't say. That's all I know."

Jack exploded with wrath. He had talked calmly enough to Valentine about his getting licked, and was inclined to think he deserved it; but now that it had come to the point, he found that the idea of his cousin being thrashed was not at all to his liking. Even at that very moment the outrage might be taking place. The victim was not equal to any one of his three assailants, and stood much less chance of escaping from their combined attack.

Fenleigh J. rushed off down the passage on a wild-goose chase after his chum, but nowhere was the latter to be found. As a last resource, he ran into the schoolroom. Valentine's seat was empty, but a boy sat reading at the next desk but one.

"Have you seen my cousin?"

"Yes, he was here a minute ago."

"Where's he gone?"

"Bother you!—let's see—oh, I know; some one came in to say Darlton wanted him in the little music-room."

"Darlton never gives lessons after tea. Phew! I see what's up!"

The boy looked up from his reading with a grunt of astonishment as his questioner turned sharply on his heel and dashed out of the room. Jack had his faults, but he was loyal-hearted enough to remember those who had at any time proved themselves to be his friends, and not to leave them in the lurch when an opportunity offered for rendering them some assistance. He was a strong boy, but the back desk trio were also good-sized fellows for their age. Had it, however, been the whole of the Sixth Form who were licking Valentine, Jack in his present state of mind would have charged in among them and attempted a rescue.

"It's clear enough," he muttered to himself, as he turned off down a short, narrow passage; "that message was a trap to catch him alone. But wait a minute, and I'll surprise the beggars."

He paused outside a door, and hearing voices within tried the handle. It was locked.

"Hallo! who's there? You can't come in."

Jack was too wary to make any reply. He glanced round rapidly, endeavouring to concoct some plan for gaining an entrance. Stooping down, he discovered that the key was turned so that it remained exactly in the centre of the keyhole, anything pushed against it would send it out on the other side. "I believe that bathroom key fits this door," he muttered, and tiptoed a little further along the passage. In another moment he was back again, and thrusting the key suddenly into the lock he turned it, and forced open the door.

The room was a small chamber set apart for music practice, the only furniture it contained being a piano, a chair, some fiddle-cases, and music-stands, while on the mantelpiece, in the place of a clock, was a metronome that had something wrong with the works. Jack, however, had no eye for these details; his attention was centred in a group of boys who were struggling under the single gas-jet, which was flaring away in a manner which showed it had evidently been turned up in a hurry.

"Here, leave that chap alone!" he exclaimed, plunging into the centre of the scrimmage. "Let him alone, I say!"

"Hallo! it's Fenleigh J.," cried Garston. "You've just come in time to help us to teach this cousin of yours a lesson on the subject of not overworking himself."

"Leave him alone!" repeated Jack angrily, giving Rosher a push which sent him staggering back into the fireplace, where he knocked over the metronome, which fell with a crash on the fender.

"Don't be a fool, Fenleigh," cried Teal. "We're going to teach this chap a lesson. If you don't want to help, you can clear out."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," returned the other. "You let him alone."

Both parties were too much in earnest to waste their breath in talking, and the next moment Garston and Rosher sprang on the intruder and endeavoured to force him out of the room. Valentine, being unable to free himself from the muscular grasp of Teal, could render no assistance; but his cousin, whose blood was fairly up, struggled furiously with his two assailants. Round the room they went, like a circular storm, wrecking everything they came in contact with; music-stands went over with an appalling clatter, while the back of the solitary chair gave way with a crash as the three combatants fell against it. Suddenly a sharp voice sounded down the passage,—

"Now then, there! What's all that noise about?"

Teal released his hold of Valentine, and springing to the gas-jet turned out the light.

"Cave!" he whispered: "it's old Thorpe!"

It was impossible to continue the struggle in the darkness, and the tumult ceased.

"He's gone into Copland's classroom," continued Teal. "Quick! let's hook it before he comes back!"

A rush was made for the door.

"All right, Fenleigh; don't you think you're going to be friends with us any more."

"I've no wish to be," answered Jack. "If you want to finish this out any time, I shall be quite ready for you!"

"It was jolly good of you to stick up for me like that," said Valentine, as the two cousins hurried off towards the schoolroom.

"I should have been a mean cad if I hadn't," returned the other, laughing. "You don't think I've forgotten that affair of the magpie's nest, do you? I don't care a straw for any of those fellows, and it they want to fight, I'll take them on any day; but they'll have to lick me first before they talk about thrashing you."

In course of time the dispute between the two extremes of the Upper Fourth died a natural death. Mr. Rowlands did not increase the length of the "prep." lessons, and peace was restored. Garston and his two companions, however, did not forgive Jack for his interference with their plans. Regarding him, perhaps, as rather a hard nut to crack, they made no attempt to renew the combat, but evidently decided to cut him off from any future enjoyment of their society or friendship.

Jack, on his part, did not seem to take this loss very much to heart; it only induced him to become more chummy with Valentine, and, judging from the comparatively few times that his name was down for punishment, this change of associates seemed to be decidedly to his advantage. As the autumn advanced, and wet days became more frequent, the two boys took to doing fretwork in their spare time; and having purchased a rather large and complicated design for a kind of bracket bookcase, they conceived the happy notion of making it as a Christmas present for Queen Mab, and so worked away together, taking an immense amount of interest in their task.

Before the term ended a rather curious incident happened, insignificant in itself, but worthy of being recorded as bearing on more important events to be dwelt on at a later period in our story.

It wanted about three weeks to the holidays, and Jack and Valentine were returning from the ironmonger's, where they had been purchasing some sandpaper wherewith to put the finishing touches to their work.

"I wish it was midsummer instead of Christmas," the former was saying. "I don't want to go home. I'd much rather go to stay with Aunt Mab at Brenlands."

Valentine was about to reply, when both boys were surprised by a shabby-looking man suddenly crossing from the other side of the street and taking up his stand directly in their path. The stranger wore a battered brown hat, no necktie, and a suit of clothes which he might have stolen from some scarecrow.

"'Afternoon, young gents!" he said.

"Good afternoon," answered Jack shortly, stepping out into the road.

The stranger turned and walked at their side.

"You may not remember me, gents, but I'm Ned Hanks."

"I don't care who you are," answered Valentine; "I don't know you."

"Oh, but I know you, sir; it's Mr. Fenleigh I'm a-talking to. I thought, perhaps, you might like to stand me a drink."

"I say, just be off," cried Jack sharply, "here's old Westford coming."

The man fell back, and a moment later the two boys raised their caps to the headmaster. Mr. Westford acknowledged their salutation with a cold stare, which clearly showed that he had seen their late companion, and was wondering what business two of his pupils had to be talking with such a vagabond.

"I wonder who that fellow was!" said Jack.

"Oh, some tramp. I never saw him before."

"But he knew your name."

"Well, these beggars are up to all kinds of dodges," answered Valentine. "If we'd waited long enough, I daresay he'd have told me the names of all the family!"



CHAPTER VIII.

A BANQUET AT "DUSTER'S."

"It must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the snuff-box."—The Brave Tin Soldier.

At Easter, Jack and Valentine got their remove into the Fifth, and there became acquainted with a young gentleman who rejoiced in the name of Tinkleby.

Tinkleby was a comical-looking fellow of medium height; he wore nippers, and had a perpetual smirk on his lips.

"Hallo, you two Fenleighs!" he said, coming up to them on the second morning of the term; "I suppose you'll join our society."

"What society?" asked Jack.

"The Fifth Form Literary Society."

"What's it for?" asked Valentine. "We're neither of us very literary."

"Well, to tell you the truth, the society isn't either. It's kept up for the sake of having a feed at the end of every summer term."

"What?" cried Jack, laughing.

"If you'll listen a moment," said Tinkleby glibly, "I'll explain the whole matter in two words.

"The fellows in the Fifth used to run a manuscript magazine. Aston was the first editor, and he called it the 'Portfolio,' because it was bound up in the case of an old blotter that he bagged out of the reading-room. The chaps who contributed papers called themselves the Fifth Form Literary Society, and elected a secretary, treasurer, and president. Aston was so pleased with one of the numbers that he sent it to The Melchester Herald to be reviewed; but after waiting about six months for a notice to appear, he went down to the office, and the editor said that the manuscript was lost, and that Aston ought to have enclosed stamps if he wanted it returned. Godson, one of the prefects, said he saw a bit at Snell's the fish-shop, where they were using it to wrap up screws of shrimps; but that was all rot, and he only said it because the fellows in the Sixth were jealous. Well, then, it was suggested that the magazine should be printed, and the members subscribed towards bringing out the first number; but after they'd raked in all the money they could get, they found there wasn't enough for the purpose, so they decided to spend what they'd got in having a feed at 'Duster's,' and it was agreed it should be an annual affair.

"When I was made president I brought out two numbers of the 'Portfolio,' but in the second I wrote rather a smart thing on old Ward, and called it 'The Career of a Class Master.' It was really so good I thought he'd enjoy reading it, and so I got another fellow to show it him; but he didn't properly appreciate it, and cut up rough. He said he would overlook the personal allusions, but he really couldn't allow any fellow in his form to be so backward in spelling, and therefore I must borrow a spelling-book from one of the kids, and learn two pages a day until I improved. He used to hear me before we began first lessons. It was rather rough on the president of a literary society, making him stand up every morning and reel off two pages of 'Butter's Spelling-Book.' And that squashed the 'Portfolio;' fellows wouldn't send in any more papers, for fear they should be hauled up in the same manner.

"But they went on subscribing for the feed," continued Tinkleby, brightening up. "We didn't let that fall through. It comes off on the breaking-up day, after the old boys' match. The Sixth are always invited in to have supper with the swells; but I know a lot or them would much rather be with us having a blow-out at 'Duster's.' Well, that's the meaning of our literary society; the subscription is only two-pence a week, so you'd better join."

The two cousins promised they would do so. Every Monday morning, in the classroom, Tinkleby passed round an old missionary box, crying, "Now then! pay up, you beggars. No broken glass or brace buttons!" It was always a race to get the collection over by the time Mr. Ward entered the room; but the sprightly Tinkleby, who seemed to have undertaken the combined duties of president, secretary, and treasurer, hurried through it somehow; and each week the box grew heavier, and the hearts of the contributors lighter as they looked forward to the time when they should sit down to the long-expected banquet.

The term passed very pleasantly for Jack and Valentine; and what between cricket, bathing, and the prospect of spending the coming holiday at Brenlands, they had good reason for feeling contented and happy. Only one thing happened to disturb their peace of mind, and that an incident of rather a curious nature.

They were strolling back to the school one afternoon, and had got within twenty yards of the main entrance, when some one hurrying along behind them touched Jack on the shoulder, and looking round they found themselves once more confronted by the same shabby-looking man who had accosted them on a previous occasion.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Fenleigh," he began. "I'm Ned Hanks; you'll remember, sir. Maybe you've got a copper or two you can spare a poor fellow who's out of work."

"I've got no money to give away to beggars," said Jack; "and I tell you once more we don't know you."

"That's rather ungrateful, I calls it," answered the man. "I did you two gents a good turn last year, and got precious little for it. I might have made more out of the other party."

By this time they had reached the school-gates.

"Look here," broke in Valentine, "don't you bother us any more, or we'll put a policeman on your track. I don't understand a word of what you've been saying, and—"

"Stop, stop, Fenleigh!" interrupted a deep voice. "What's the meaning of this, pray?"

The two boys looked up and found they were standing in the presence of the headmaster.

"What's the meaning of this?" he repeated. "Who is this man you're talking to?"

There was a moment's silence, during which the seedy stranger slunk away, and disappeared round the corner.

"I ask who is this man you are speaking to?"

"I don't know, sir," answered Valentine.

"Nonsense!" retorted Mr. Westford sharply. "I saw you two boys holding a conversation with him once before. You must know who he is; answer my question immediately."

"He told us his name was Hanks," said Jack; "but we don't know him. He came up and spoke to us of his own accord."

"And, pray, what did he want to speak to you about?"

"I don't know, sir," answered Valentine—"that is—he wanted to beg some money."

"I don't understand your answer, Fenleigh," replied Mr. Westford. "I fear you are not telling me the truth—or, at all events, you are trying to keep something back which ought to come to my knowledge. There must be some reason for my having twice found you in conversation with that disreputable-looking fellow. Both of you will not go outside the school premises for a fortnight without special permission."

Jack stormed and raved, and threatened what he would do if they should encounter the tramp again; but of the two, Valentine felt the punishment far more acutely than his cousin. He was not accustomed to rows; and for a boy with his naturally high sense of honour, the mere thought that the headmaster suspected him of telling a falsehood was ten times worse than the fact of being "gated."

The term ran on, and at length the last day arrived; a day of perfect happiness, with no more work, and a letter by the first post from Queen Mab, saying that the pony-carriage would meet the train as usual at Hornalby station. The prize-giving, with the Mayor of Melchester in the chair, and Augustus Powler, Esq., M.P., and other grandees, upon the platform, was a very serious and formal business; the Past and Present match, in which Preston, the coming man in bowling, took seven wickets, and dear old Clayton, a bygone captain, lifted a ball over the roof of the pavilion, was certainly more interesting; but, at all events, in the opinion of all those concerned, the chief event of the day was the annual supper of the Fifth Form Literary Society.

"Come along," cried Tinkleby, as the cheers which greeted a win for the Present were gradually dying away—"come along. I told Duster to have the grub ready at half-past five sharp, and it's a quarter to six."

"Shan't we get into a row for cutting tea?" asked Jack.

"No fear," answered the other. "Old Ward knows where we're going; and it's all right as long as we get back before lock-up."

The confectioner's shop patronized by the Melchester boys was situated in a quiet street some five minutes' walk from the school-gates. Why the proprietor's name should have been changed from Downing to "Duster" it would be difficult to say; but as long as his customers came furnished with ready money and good appetites, the probability is that the former would have been quite content to serve them under any nickname which they chose to invent.

At the back of "Duster's" establishment was a little square parlour, where boys repaired to eat ices and drink alarming quantities of Duster's famous home-made ginger-beer—a high explosive, which always sent the cork out with a bang, and to drink two bottles of which straight off would have been a risky business for any boy to attempt without first testing the staying power of his waistcoat-buttons, and putting several bags of sand in his jacket-pockets. In this parlour it was that the literary society assembled for their banquet; as many as could find room squeezing themselves on to the two short forms on either side of the table, and the remainder camping out wherever they could find room on the chairs, window-ledge, and a small sofa. At the close of a summer day the place was decidedly hot and stuffy, and the first thing everybody did was to pull off their coats and blazers and appear in their shirt-sleeves.

Tinkleby, as president, took the post of honour at the head of the table, and hammering the festive board with his fist, called on "Duster" to "bring in the grub and something to drink." To describe the banquet itself would need an abler pen than mine. The sausages were browned to perfection, the ices were pinker than a maiden's cheek, and the ginger-beer was stronger and more filling at the price than it had ever been before, and made those who drank it gasp for breath and feel as though they had swallowed a cyclone. James, surnamed "Guzzling Jimmy," distinguished himself by finishing up with ices, and then beginning all over again with cold ham and pickles; but at length, when even he had finished, there was a general hammering of the table, and a call for "speeches."

"Well, fire away," said the president. "Who's going to start?"

"I will," cried a boy named Dorris. "Gentlemen, I beg to propose a toast—success to the Fifth Form Literary Society, and with it I couple the name of our worthy president, Mr. Tinkleby; may he live long and be happy!"

This sentiment, though not very original, was received with great enthusiasm, the company showing their approval of it by administering to themselves fresh doses of "Duster's" liquid explosive.

The president, rising slowly to his feet, sticking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and expanding that portion of his body which contained his supper, in imitation of the movements of Augustus Powler, Esq., M.P., cleared his throat, and began in pompous tones: "Mr. Mayor, ladies and gentlemen, I cannot well express to you the delight with which I stand here to fulfil the pleasing duties which you have so kindly called upon me to perform. When I look round on the bright, young faces before me—"

The speaker paused to dodge a shower of crusts, corks, and other missiles; the owners of the "bright, young faces" evidently resented this personal allusion.

"Shut up, Tinky!" cried several voices. "Talk sense, can't you?"

The president smiled, and readjusted his nippers.

"I was about to remark," he continued in his natural tone, and with his accustomed fluency of speech, "I was about to remark that I thank you very much for having drunk my health. You were good enough to couple my name with that of our society. Gentlemen, I am convinced that the Fifth Form Literary Society has a great future before it. (Laughter.) I look forward to the time when we shall not grub here at 'Duster's,' but dine together in premises of our own. Our friend Mr. James has a nice little plot of ground in a soap-box, where he now grows mustard-and-cress, but which I have no doubt he would let to us on reasonable terms for building purposes. But, perhaps, I am looking a little too far ahead. As regards our immediate future, I intend making a determined effort to publish another number of the 'Portfolio.' (Cheers.) Mr. Ward has intimated his willingness to contribute a large number of Latin lines written by members of his class; while Mr. Sam Jones, the boot-cleaner, has offered to place his talented brush at our disposal, and produce a grand New-Year's Illustrated Supplement, entitled, 'Christmas in the Coal-Hole.' Gentlemen, I fear I am trespassing on your time and good nature. Mr. James, I see, is anxious to drink another toast. Once more I thank you for having drunk my health, and would now call upon you to drink that of Mr. Preston, who distinguished himself this afternoon by taking no less than seven of the old boys' wickets."

Great applause greeted the finish of the president's speech, and Preston's health was drunk amid a scene of the wildest enthusiasm. Cries of "On your pins, Preston!"—"Well bowled, sir!"—"Order!"—"Speak up!" etc., rent the air; while the pounding of fists and drumming of feet were continued until a game leg of one of the forms suddenly gave way, causing a temporary disappearance of half the company beneath the table.

Preston might have been able to howl, but he certainly could not talk, and it was hard for him to follow such a glib speaker as the president. However, the fact remained that he had distinguished himself, and brought honour to the Fifth Form in general by taking seven wickets; and for this reason his comrades would have been content had he merely stood up and reeled off the list of prepositions which govern the accusative, or quoted selections from the multiplication table. As it was, they awarded him a cordial reception, and filled up the pauses in his disjointed utterances with tumultuous applause.

"I'm much obliged to you fellows for drinking my health," began the bowler. "It's jolly good of you, and—all that sort of thing. (Cheers.) I did manage to bag seven wickets." (Renewed applause, interrupted by a warning shout of "Look out! this form's going again!") "I was going to say," continued the speaker, attempting to hide his embarrassment by pretending to drink out of an empty glass, "that it was rather a fluke—" (Shouts of "No! no!" "More pop for the gentleman!" and fresh outbursts of cheering.) "Well, I did the best I could, and—well—glad you're pleased, and all that sort of thing. (Alarums and excursions.) I suppose I ought to say something about this society, but, as regards that matter, the former speaker has rather taken the sails out of my wind. (Cheers and laughter.) No, I should say the whales out of my— (Yells of laughter.) Any way," concluded Preston, shouting to be heard above the general uproar, "I'm much obliged to you, and—all that sort of thing—"

It was not until several ginger-beer bottles had rolled off the table, and the rickety form had once more gone down with every soul on board, that a sufficient amount of order was restored to enable the president to call on somebody for a song.

"Sing yourself, Tinkleby," was the answer. "Give us 'Little Brown Jug.'"

The president complied with the request. Mead, a musical companion, ground out an unearthly accompaniment on "Duster's" little, broken-winded harmonium; and the company shrieked the chorus, regardless of time, tune, or anything but the earnest desire of each individual to make more noise than any one else.

When this deafening uproar had at length subsided, everybody was forced to remain quiet for a few moments to regain their breath. "Now, then," said Tinkleby, "who's next? What's that? All right. Bos. Jones says he will give us a recitation."

The announcement was received with a groan. Mr. Boswell-Jones was rather a pompous young gentleman, who expended most of his energies trying to live up to his double surname, and in consequence was not very popular with his schoolfellows. He rather fancied himself as an elocutionist; and though he might have seen "rocks ahead" in the manner in which the audience received the president's announcement, Boswell-Jones had sufficient confidence in his own powers to be blind to any lack of appreciation on the part of other people. He stood up and adjusted his necktie, cleared his throat, and began,—

"I remembah, I remembah, The house where I was bawn,

("Euh! re—ah—lly!" murmured the listeners.)

The leetle window where the sun Came peeping in at mawn."

"Whose little son?" interrupted Dorris.

"Shut up!" cried the president.

"Well, I only wanted to know," said Dorris in an injured tone. "I should call it jolly good cheek of anybody's son to come peeping in through my bedroom window—"

"Shut up!" exclaimed Tinkleby. "Go on, Bos."

"He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day; But now"—

continued the reciter with a great amount of pathos,

—"I often wish the night Had bawn my breath away!"

"So do I," mumbled Paterson. "Let's have another song."

"I remembah, I remembah, The roses, red and white—"

"Go on, Bossy," ejaculated the irrepressible Dorris; "you don't remember it at all, you're simply making it up as you go along."

A general disturbance followed this last interruption—the audience laughed, the president vainly endeavoured to restore order, and Boswell-Jones sat down in a rage, and refused to continue his oration.

"A song, a song!" cried several voices. "Jack Fenleigh, you know something; come on, let's have it."

Jack had a good voice, and with Mead extracting fearful groans and growls out of the harmonium, he started off on the first verse of "The Mermaid," a song which he was destined in after years to sing under strangely different circumstances:—

"Oh, 'twas in the broad Atlantic, 'mid the equinoctial gales, That a gay young tar fell overboard, among the sharks and whales; And down he went like a streak of light, so quickly down went he, Until he came to a mermaid at the bottom of the deep blue sea."

Then the audience took up the chorus, and yelled,—

"Rule, Britannia! Bri—tann—ia rules the waves! And Bri—tons never, never, ne—ver shall be Mar—ri—ed to a mer—mai—ed At the bottom of the deep blue sea!"

The song was received with great enthusiasm, and the performers might have been kept repeating the last chorus until break of day on the following morning, it Tinkleby had not suddenly jumped up, crying, "I say, you chaps, it's five-and-twenty past seven. We shall be late for lock-up."

Every one sprang to his feet. Dorris was the first to reach the door, and being of a playful disposition caught up a bundle of coats and blazers and bolted with them under his arm. A moment later certain of the peaceful citizens of Melchester were astonished at the sight of a dozen or more young gentlemen tearing madly down the street in their shirt-sleeves. And so ended the third annual supper of the Fifth Form Literary Society.



CHAPTER IX.

"GUARD TURN OUT!"

"He felt for them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world. He was not envious ... but wished to be as lovely as they."—The Ugly Duckling.

"It is jolly to be here at Brenlands again," said Jack, as he sat dangling his legs from the kitchen table, and munching one of the sweet pods of the peas which his aunt was shelling. "I've been looking forward to it ever since last summer."

"Yes, and a pretty fuss I had to get you to accept my first invitation," answered Queen Mab; "I thought you were never going to condescend to favour us with your company. However, I've got you all here again, and it is jolly; and what's more, you managed to turn up at the proper time yesterday instead of coming half a day late, as you did last year, you rascal!"

The boy laughed. "Oh, well! you may put that down to Val," he answered. "He's quite taken me in hand lately, and has been in an awful funk for fear I should get into another row just before the holidays. You know those penny toys you get with a little thing like a pair of bellows under them that squeaks—well, I got a bird the other day and pulled off the stand, and stuck it in my shoe so that I could make a noise with it when I walked. Whenever I moved about in class, old Ward used to beseech me with tears in his eyes to wear another pair of boots. I used to come squeaking into assemblies a bit late on purpose, and send all the fellows into fits. It was a fearful joke; but poor old Val got quite huffy about it, and kept saying I should be found out, and that there was no sense in my 'monkey tricks,' as he called them."

"So they are," answered Queen Mab, smiling in spite of herself. "I should have thought you were old enough to find some more sensible amusement than putting pieces of penny toys in your boots. You may laugh at Valentine if you like, but I can tell you this, he's very fond of you, and that's the reason why he doesn't like to see you in trouble."

"I know he is," returned the boy briskly. "He's a brick; and I like him better than any other chap in the school."

Queen Mab went on shelling her peas, and Jack remained perched on the end of the table, quite content to continue watching her nimble fingers and sweet, restful face. It certainly was jolly to be back again at Brenlands. He was no longer the ugly duckling; Helen and Barbara were like sisters, and he got on with them swimmingly; all kinds of splendid projects were on the carpet, and there were plenty of long summer days to look forward to in which to carry them out. To be a careless dog of a schoolboy, ready for anything in the way of larks and excitement, and paying precious little attention to one's books or conduct record, might be a fascinating sort of existence; yet somehow it was not altogether unpleasant, once in a way, to become for a time a member of a more civilized and refined society, where gentler treatment encouraged gentler manners, where hearts were thought of as well as heads, where there was no black list, and where no one would have made a boast of being on it, had such a thing existed.

This year the mimic war operations were of a more advanced kind than had ever been attempted before. A fortress built of clay and pebbles was mined and blown up; and there still being some powder left, Jack successfully performed the feat of blowing himself up, and in doing so sustained the loss of an eyebrow. In order that this catastrophe should not alarm Queen Mab, the missing hair was replaced by burnt cork; but Jack, forgetting what had happened, sponged his face and rushed down to tea, where Barbara, after regarding him for a few moments in silence, leaned across the table and remarked, with a wise shake of her head, "Yes, I see—you've been shaving."

But what proved a source of endless delight to the two boys was an old, military bell-tent which Queen Mab had bought for their special use and amusement. They pitched it on a corner of the lawn, and were always repairing thither to read, and talk, and hold councils of war. It was delightful to speculate as to what doughty warriors might have been sheltered beneath it; and to imagine that sundry small rents and patches must be the result of the enemy's fire, and not due to the wear and tear of ordinary encampments.

Not satisfied with living in it by day, they determined to pass a night there also, and would not rest content until their aunt had given them permission to try the experiment.

"All we want," said Valentine, "is a mackintosh to spread on the ground, and a few rugs and sofa cushions, and a candle and a box of matches."

"Very well, you can have plenty of those," answered Queen Mab; "perhaps some day you won't be so well off, Valentine."

She spoke lightly enough, and with no foreshadowing of a visionary picture, often to haunt her mind in the days to come, of men lying silently under a clear, starlit sky, with belts on, rifles by their sides, and bayonets ready fixed.

The two boys prepared to put their project into immediate execution; and in connection with this their first but by no means last experience of a night under canvas, they were destined to fall in with a little adventure which must be recorded.

Shortly before the commencement of the holidays a lot of strawberries had been stolen from the garden, and Queen Mab feared lest a similar fate should overtake a fine show of pears which were just getting ripe.

"Well, good-night," she said, as she prepared to close the door on the two adventurers; "if you're cold, and want to come in, throw some pebbles up at my window."

"Oh, we shan't want to come in," answered Jack stoutly. "If you hear any one coming to steal the fruit, you shout, 'Guard turn out!' and we'll nab 'em."

The boys settled down like old campaigners. "Awful joke, isn't it?" said Jack.

"Yes, prime!" answered Valentine; "soldiering must be jolly."

Half an hour passed.

"I say," murmured Valentine, "this ground seems precious hard!"

"Yes," answered his companion. "I've tried lying on it every way, and I believe my bones are coming through my skin."

A long pause, and then, "I say, don't you think it's nearly morning?"

"Oh, no! the church clock has only just struck one."

The darkness seemed to lengthen out into that of a polar winter instead of a single night. At length the canvas walls began to grow grey with dawn, and Jack awoke with a shiver, wondering whether he had really been asleep or not.

"It's beastly cold," he muttered.

"Yes," answered Valentine. "I thought it was never going to get light. Look here, I'm determined I will sleep! What's the good of my being a soldier if I can't sleep in a tent?"

He turned over on his face, and had just dropped off into a doze, when he was awakened by Jack, who had reached over and was shaking his arm.

"I say—Val—who was that?"

"Who's what?" was the drowsy answer.

"Why! didn't you hear? Some one just walked down the path. It can't be Jakes; it isn't five o'clock."

Valentine rubbed his eyes, thought for a moment, and then suddenly sat up broad awake.

"The pears!" he whispered.

Both boys sprang up, unlaced the door of the tent, and sallied forth in the direction of the fruit garden.

"Don't make a row; walk on the grass border. Hist! there he is!"

There he was, sure enough; a boy about their own age, calmly picking pears and dropping them into a basket. Jack and Valentine slowly crept down by the side of the raspberry bushes, like Indians on a war-trail.

"Now then!" murmured the former, "charge!"

The thief jumped as if a gun had been fired off behind him, and started to run, but before he could reach the path he was fairly collared. He struggled violently, and then commenced to kick, whereupon his arm was suddenly twisted behind his back, a style of putting on the curb-rein with which fractious small boys will be well acquainted.

"Woa! steady now, 'oss!" said Jack facetiously. "Keep your feet quiet, or I shall put the screw on a bit tighter. Now then, what shall we do with him?"

"Put him into the tool shed," answered Valentine.

The culprit, finding himself fairly mastered, became more docile. His captors, however, turned a deaf ear to his pleadings to be let go; and thrusting him into the little outhouse, turned the key in the lock, and then began to wonder what they should do next.

"Well," said Jack, "we've got a prisoner of war now, and no mistake. What shall we do with the beggar? go for a policeman?"

"No, we don't want to get the chap sent to prison."

"If we tell Aunt Mab she'll let him go, and he ought to be punished."

"Of course he does—young villain! It's like his cheek coming here and bagging all the fruit."

"I have it!" said Jack, suddenly struck with a bright idea. "We'll lick him!"

Valentine hesitated. "I don't like setting on a chap two against one," he answered. "I don't mind a stand-up fight."

"Well, that's what I mean," answered Jack joyously. "Look here!" he continued, hammering on the door of the shed—"look here, you inside there! I'm going to punch your head for stealing those pears. If you like to come out I'll fight you, and then you can go; if not, you can stay where you are. Will you come?"

"Yes," answered the prisoner sullenly.

Twenty years ago a fight was not quite such a rare occurrence at Melchester School as it would be to-day. Jack threw off his coat with alacrity.

"Now, Val, you watch; and if the beggar tries to bolt, you leg him down."

With a dogged look the stranger took up his ground, and on the signal being given for the commencement of hostilities, lowered his head, and made a wild rush at his antagonist. The latter stepped aside, and greeted him with a smart cuff on the side of the head. Once more the visitor came on like a runaway windmill, but this time Jack walked backward and refused the encounter.

"Oh, look here," he cried, in an injured tone, "can't you do any better than that? Can't you stand up and hit straight? Don't you know how to box?"

"No."

"Well, what's the good of saying you'll come out and fight? What's your name?"

"Joe Crouch."

"Well then, Joseph, you'd better take your hook. There's your old basket, only just leave those pears behind; and don't come here again, or we'll set the bobby on your track."

Crouch marched off, evidently astonished at finding himself at liberty to depart. When he reached the gate, he turned, and touched his cap. "Morning, gen'lemen," he said, and so disappeared. Valentine laughed, and regarded his cousin with a queer look in his face.

"You are a rum fellow, Jack; you're always wanting to fight somebody. When you get two fellows against you like Garston and Rosher, you go at it like a tiger; and then another time, just because you get hold of a chap who can't knock you down, you back out and make peace."

"Well," answered the other, "there's no sport in licking a chap like that. I'll tell you what, I'm frightfully hungry."

The two adventurers had plenty to tell at breakfast that morning, and the interest in their capture lasted throughout the day. In the evening the young folks went out a favourite walk through the lanes and fields. Valentine and Barbara were running races on the way home; but Jack lingered behind with Helen, who was gathering ferns.

"Let me carry your basket," he said.

"Oh, don't you trouble; you'd rather run on with Val and Barbara."

"I expect you don't want me. I know you think I've got no manners, and in that you're about right."

"No, I don't think anything of the kind," said Helen, laughing. "I shall be very glad if you will carry the basket, because I want to talk to you."

"Now for a lecture," said Jack to himself.—"All right, fire away!"

"Well," began the girl, looking round at him with a twinkle in her eye, "I want to know why you didn't set Val on to fight that boy this morning, instead of offering to do it yourself."

"Oh, I don't know! It was my own idea; besides, I'm bigger and stronger."

"You mean you did it so that Val shouldn't get hurt, in the same way that you grappled with those three fellows who were ill-treating him at school."

"Pooh! he didn't tell you that, did he? He always lets you know all the bothers I get into. You'll think I do nothing but fight and kick up rows; and," added the speaker, with a pathetic look of injured innocence, "I've been behaving jolly well lately."

"I think you're a dear, good fellow for defending Val," said Helen warmly, "and I've been wanting to thank you ever since."

"It was nothing. 'Twasn't half as much as he did for me when he climbed that tree and freed my bootlace. I wish he wouldn't go telling you everything that happens at school."

"You were saying a day or so ago," said the girl, slyly, "that you didn't care for anybody, or for what people thought of you."

"Yes, I do," answered the ugly duckling; "I care a lot what you folks think of me at Brenlands."

"Why?"

"Why, because you're all better than I am, and yet you never try to make me feel it; but I do all the same. And I love you three and Queen Mab; and I love the place; and I should like to live here always. But outside of that," he added quickly, "I don't care a button for anything."

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

"But it's a fact."

"You mean," she answered gently, "that you've said it so often that at last you're beginning to believe it's true."

A few mornings later, when the boys came down to breakfast, they were surprised, on looking out of the window, to see no less a personage than Joe Crouch weeding the garden path.

"I found he was out of work, and his parents wretchedly poor," said Queen Mab; "so I said he might come and help Jakes by doing a few odd jobs. You know the old maxim," she added, smiling—"the beet way to subdue an enemy is to turn him into a friend."

The two boys took considerable interest in Crouch, regarding him as their own particular protege. Joe, for his part, seemed to remember their early morning encounter with gratitude, as having been the means of landing him in his present situation. He had apparently a great amount of respect for Jack, and seeing the latter cutting sticks with a blunt knife, asked leave to take it home with him, and brought it back next day with the blades shining like silver, and as sharp as razors.

One afternoon, when the boys were lying reading in the tent, Barbara suddenly appeared in the open doorway, and stamping her foot, cried, "Bother!"

"What's up with you, Bar?"

"Why, that wretched Raymond Fosberton is in the house talking to Aunt Mab. He's walked over from Grenford; and he is going to stay the night."

Valentine groaned, and Jack administered a kick to an unoffending camp-stool.

"What does he want to come here for, I wonder?" continued Barbara. "Silly monkey! you should just see him in his white waistcoat and shiny boots—faugh!" And she choked with wrath.

Raymond's presence certainly did not contribute very much to the happiness of the party. He monopolized the conversation at tea-time, was very high and mighty in his manner, and patronized everybody in turn. He lost his temper playing croquet, and broke one of the mallets; and later on in the evening he cheated at "word-making," and because he failed to win, pronounced it a "stupid game, only fit for kids."

In Barbara, however, he found his match. She cared not two straws for all the Fosbertons alive or dead; and when the visitor, who had been teasing her for some time, went so far as to pull her hair, she promptly dealt him a vigorous box on the ear, a proceeding which so delighted the warlike Jack that he chuckled till bed-time.

Every one felt relieved when it came to tea-time on the following day. Raymond had announced his intention of walking home in the cool of the evening, and Queen Mab proposed that his cousins should accompany him part of the way.

They had walked about a mile, Jack and Helen being a little in advance of the others, when the girl caught hold of her cousin's arm.

"Oh, look!" she said, "there's a man coming who's drunk."

"Never mind," answered Jack stoutly; "he won't interfere with us."

The man, who had reeled into the hedge, suddenly staggered back into the middle of the road, and stood there barring the way.

"'Ello! Misser Fenleigh," he began, "'ow're you to-night, sir?"

Jack stared at the speaker in astonishment, and then recognized him as the same man who had spoken to them in Melchester.

"Look here!" he said hotly. "I've told you twice I don't know you. You just stand clear and let us pass."

By this time the remainder of the party had come up.

"Why, 'ere's Misser Fosbe'ton," continued the man, with a tipsy leer. "Now I jus' ask you, sir, if these two gen'lemen don't owe me some money for a drink."

Raymond's face flushed crimson, and then turned white.

"You've had too much already, Hanks," he said sharply; "just shut up, and stand out of the road."

"Oh, no offence!" muttered the man, staggering aside to let the cousins pass; "'nother time'll do jus' the same."

"Look here, Raymond, who is that fellow?" asked Valentine, as soon as they had got out of earshot of the stranger, "Twice he's come up to us in the street at Melchester, saying he knows us, and wanting money; and the last time, old Westford saw us talking to him, and we got into a beastly row, and were gated for a fortnight. Who is he?"

"Oh, he's a lazy blackguard called Ned Hanks; he's always poaching and getting drunk. He never does any work, except now and then he collects rags and bones, and sells them in Melchester."

"How does he know you?"

"He lives close to Grenford, and every one knows me there."

"But how does he know us?"

"I can't say. Haven't you ever seen him at Brenlands?"

"No, never."

"Well, I suppose he must have found out your name somehow; and he's always cadging for money for a drink. Don't you trouble to come any further. By-the-bye, next year I'm going to set up in diggings at Melchester. I shall be articled to a solicitor there; and if you fellows are still at the school, we might go out together."

"Confound that man!" said Jack, on the following morning; "I should like to find out who he is, and why he always speaks to us. I wonder if Crouch knows anything about him."

Joe Crouch was questioned, and admitted that he knew the man Hanks well by sight, and had sometimes spoken to him.

Jack explained the reason of his inquiry. "The fellow's got us into one row already. Why should he always be bothering us for money?"

Joe Crouch stood thoughtfully scratching his head for a moment with the point of the grass clippers.

"I dunno, sir," he answered; "but maybe I might find out."



CHAPTER X.

"STORMS IN A TEA-CUP."

"'Are you not in a warm room, and in society from which you may learn something? But you are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable.'"—The Ugly Duckling.

At the commencement of the winter term, in addition to being in the same class and dormitory, the two cousins were thrown still more together by occupying adjoining desks in the big schoolroom.

"Now I shall be able to keep an eye on you," said Valentine, "and see that you do some work."

"Shall you?"

"Yes; Helen gave me special instructions that I was to make you behave yourself. This is my last year; and the guv'nor says if I do well I shall go on then to an army coach to work up for Sandhurst."

"Well, I suppose I must behave myself, if it's Helen's orders," said Jack, laughing. "I wish I knew what I was going to do when I leave this place. I only wish I was going into the army like you. Some fine day I think I shall enlist."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. What d'you think Queen Mab would say when she heard about it?"

"But she wouldn't hear about it," returned the other, with a touch of his restless discontent. "No one would hear about it. I should call myself Jones, or something of that sort. It would be a happier life than that I live at home; and what the guv'nor thinks he's going to do with me, I'm sure I don't know."

Valentine certainly did his best to follow out his sister's instructions, and keep Master Jack out of hot water. The latter seemed to have become a trifle more tractable; perhaps, finding other people were interested in him, he was led to take more interest in himself. At all events, his conduct underwent a considerable change for the better, and his name no longer appeared on every page of the defaulters' book.

Football was now on, a sport which he specially enjoyed. In addition to this, Garston and Teal had left, and Rosher, who had now joined the Fifth, seemed to be increasing in wisdom as well as in stature, and no longer sought the bubble reputation in official visits to the headmaster's study. In short, Jack had improved with his surroundings. He and Valentine, in addition to their fretwork, had taken up carpentry; and on wet afternoons, when idle hands were steeped in mischief, they were always to be found in the shed which had been set apart for the boys to use as a sort of workshop. As far as the Fifth Form was concerned, only one incident happened to relieve the monotony of a somewhat uneventful term; and as one of our heroes was largely responsible for what took place, an account of the episode may as well be included in our story.

Jack, it should be said, was not to blame for what happened in the first place, his and Preston's share in the business was, as it were, only the effect arising from a primary cause; and for this, the real root of the matter, Tinkleby was solely responsible.

"Look here," said Tinkleby, "those fellows in the Sixth are running that debating show of theirs, and they get let off 'prep.' every Saturday night; wherefore I vote we join."

"They wouldn't have us," answered Dorris; "they won't allow any one to join if they are lower in the school than Sixth or Remove."

"Ah!" answered Tinkleby, adjusting his nippers, "but, don't you see, I should do it in this way—I should propose that our society be amalgamated with theirs."

"What society?" asked Preston the bowler.

"Why, the Fifth Form Literary Society, you blockhead!"

Preston and Dorris both exploded.

"You seem to think," continued Tinkleby, with a cynical smile, "that the only use for our society is to provide us with an excuse for having a feed once a year at 'Duster's;' but let me remind you, sir, that its main object, according to the original rules, was the cultivation of a taste for literary pursuits among its members."

"Yes," added Dorris, "and so you want to get off Saturday 'prep.' Fire away, Tinky, I'm with you."

That very afternoon Tinkleby addressed a large, square envelope to

S. R. HENINGSON, Esq., Hon. Sec. Melchester School Debating Society.

and having sealed it with an old military button, dropped it into the letter-box, a proceeding more in keeping with the importance of the communication than if he had delivered it by hand. The honorary secretary went one higher—he sent his reply by post. It was polite, and to the point. The committee of the debating society did not see their way to extend the limit of the rule relating to membership. They would be pleased to admit any of the Fifth Form who could obtain permission to attend the meetings, but they would not be entitled to vote, or to take any active part in the proceedings.

Tinkleby was incensed at this cool reception of his proposal, and harangued his comrades during a temporary absence of Mr. Ward from the classroom.

"They think such a confounded lot of themselves, with their miserable essays and dry debates. I'll bet we could stand up and spout as well as they can, on any subject you like to mention, from cribbing to astronomy."

"Of course we could," answered Boswell-Jones, who had prepared a paper entitled, "An Hour with the Poets," into which he had introduced all his favourite recitations, and which he longed to fire off at something in the shape of an audience—"of course we could; it's all that conceited beast Heningson. He thinks he's an orator—great ass!"

"Well, look here," said Tinkleby, fixing his nippers with an air of resolution and defiance, "Heningson's going to open a debate next Saturday. The subject is: 'That this house is of opinion that the moral and physical condition of mankind is in a state of retrogression.' We'll go and hear it. Ward'll let us do our 'prep.' in the afternoon. I've got a little plan in my head, and we'll take a rise out of these gentlemen."

The Melchester School Debating Society, as we have already mentioned, was established for the benefit of the senior boys, who held their meetings every Saturday night during the winter and Easter terms in what was known as the drawing classroom. It was conducted in a very solemn and serious manner. Redbrook, the head of the school, took the chair; while on the table before him, as a sign of his office and authority, a small hand-bell was placed, which he was supposed to ring when, in the heat and excitement of debate, members so far forgot themselves as to need a gentle reminder of the rule relating to silence. As a matter of fact, the chairman seldom, if ever, had any need to use this instrument, though on one occasion some wag removed it before the proceedings commenced, and substituted in its place the huge railway-bell used by Mullins, the school-porter; a jest which greatly incensed the grave and dignified assembly on whom it was practised. There was a proper mahogany ballot-box. The subjects for discussion always began, "That this house, etc.," and the secretary entered in a book exhaustive minutes of every meeting, which the chairman signed with a quill pen. These details are given in order that the reader may understand the character of the society in question, and be therefore in a better position to pass judgment on the outrageous behaviour of certain gentlemen whose conduct will shortly be described.

On the following Saturday evening, in answer to the formal invitation which they had received, Tinkleby and his friends filed into the room, looking very good and demure, and occupied the desk against the end wall, which they entered as though it had been a pew in church. The usual preliminaries were gone through, and the chairman called on "our worthy friend the secretary" to open the debate by moving, "That this house is of opinion that the moral and physical condition of mankind is in a state of retrogression."

For a time all went well. The visitors sat as mute as mummies, and the opener sought to justify his proposition by launching out into an impassioned discourse, which seemed rather inclined to resolve itself into a brief history of the world, and which the critical Tinkleby afterwards described as containing "more wind than argument." Touching briefly on the statements of the Hebrew chroniclers, Heningson proceeded with a wordy exposition of the manners and customs of ancient Greece, and from this stumbled rather abruptly into the rise of the Roman empire. Drawing a fancy and perhaps rather flattering portrait of one of the world-conquering legionaries, the speaker thought fit to compare it with that of a latter-day Italian organ-grinder who often visited the school, and who had recently been had up for being drunk and disorderly in the streets of Melchester.

"Gentlemen," exclaimed the orator earnestly, pointing accidentally at the chairman, but meaning to indicate the unfortunate musician, "is this the culmination of a race of gods? this inebriate, undersized—"

At this point the discourse was suddenly interrupted by a loud and prolonged snore. Heningson hesitated, and glanced up from his notes with a look of annoyance. He was about to proceed when a chorus of snores in every imaginable pitch and key effectively checked his utterance. With an indignant "Sh—s-h!" the audience turned in their seats to witness the following astonishing spectacle. At the back of the room every one of the half-dozen visitors sat, or rather sprawled, with his head upon the desk, in an attitude suggestive of the soundest slumber; the only variation in position being on the part of Jack Fenleigh, who lay back with a handkerchief thrown over his face like an old gentleman taking his after-dinner nap. The nasal concert continued, and the chairman smote his hand-bell.

"Firs' bell," murmured Tinkleby drowsily, "stop working;" while Dorris became suddenly afflicted with a catch in his breath which caused a succession of terrific snorts, each of which nearly cracked the windows.

"Here, stop that noise!" cried Redbrook, springing to his feet in great wrath. "Wake 'em up, somebody!"

An obliging member caught Tinkleby by the arm, and gave him a prodigious shake.

"Shur up," growled that gentleman. "Give me back my pillow, 'tisn't time to ger up. Hallo! have I been asleep? I'm beastly sorry."

One by one the other occupants of the visitors' gallery were made to understand that they were not in their beds. Jack Fenleigh, however, absolutely refused to return from the land of dreams. He was shaken, pinched, and pommelled, but all to no purpose; his snores only became louder, and the style more fantastic.

Meanwhile a heated altercation was going on between the chairman and the president of the Fifth Form Literary Society.

"Look here, Tinkleby, we don't want any more of your silly foolery, so just stop it."

"My dear sir, I'm doing nothing."

"Well, why did you begin?"

"If you mean my having dropped off to sleep, I'm very sorry; but really there's something in the air of the place—"

"Haw-r-r-r-r-ratch," interposed Jack Fenleigh. Redbrook rose from his chair, boiling with wrath.

"Just clear out!" he cried. "Go on—all the lot of you!" The visitors demurred, but being outnumbered three to one, they were seized and hustled unceremoniously out of the room. In the midst of all this commotion, however, Fenleigh J., still continued in an unbroken slumber, and was distinctly heard snoring louder than ever as his companions dragged him off down the passage.



For the time being this little joke gave rise to a rather strained relationship between the members of the Sixth and Fifth Forms. Tinkleby and his comrades were designated a set of rowdy jackasses; and they replied to the compliment by declaring that a fraternity of live donkeys was better than a collection of stuffed owls, and advising Heningson to patent his discourse as an infallible cure for insomnia. Cutting allusions to the "Literary Society" and sarcastic retorts were exchanged in the corridors and playing-field; and so the feud continued.

All his classmates were charmed with Jack's share in the performance.

"You wait," was his invariable answer to their congratulations; "I'll take a better rise out of them before long."

For a time this boast was not considered to imply any definite intention on the speaker's part to play any further pranks on the members of the debating society; but at length a rumour got abroad that something was going to happen. Fenleigh J. and Preston had been seen more than once taking counsel together in out-of-the-way corners, and exchanging mysterious nods and winks. They were known to have spent the free time between "prep." and supper, on two consecutive evenings, alone together in the workshop, with the door locked. A great deal of hammering went on, but no one could find out what they were making. When questioned on the subject, they professed a lamb-like state of innocence; and even Tinkleby himself could give no explanation of their conduct. A fortnight after the delivery of Heningson's essay, the debating society held an important meeting, the announcement of which, posted the previous evening on the notice-board, was worded as follows:—

M. S. D. S. Saturday, November ...th. DEBATE.

"That this house approves of the settlement of all international disputes by arbitration instead of war,"

Aff., Mr. N. J. CARTER. Neg., Mr. SHEPHERD.

The members turned up in force, for this time the openers of the discussion were the two leading lights of the society, and the contest between them was certain to prove an intellectual treat which ought not to be missed. Carter's style of oratory was of the impassioned order; he thumped on the desk, and went through the "extension motions," with the exception of that awful movement where you bend double and try to touch your toes. It was rumoured that he wrote deep, unintelligible poetry that did not rhyme; and if the school rules had not forbidden the practice, he would have worn long hair and a fly-away necktie. Shepherd, on the other hand, went in for logic, unadorned by any movements suggestive of setting-up drill. His style bore a suspicious resemblance to that of Augustus Powler, Esq., M.P. He stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and pushed forward that portion of his body which it would have been unfair to strike at in a fight. It would be impossible to give here anything like a detailed report of the proceedings. From the moment when the chairman rose to introduce the first speaker, every one felt that the meeting would be one of unusual interest; and in one sense they were certainly destined not to be disappointed. Carter was in great form; he dealt the desk such terrific blows that the ink spurted out of the ink-pots, and ran down on to the secretary's breeches. War, he declared, was legalized murder, and the soldier little better than a hired assassin. Napoleon Bonaparte was far more roughly handled than at Leipsic or Waterloo; and a long list of conquerors, ranging back to Alexander the Great, were, figuratively speaking, torn from their graves and hung in chains. At length, having dwelt on the enormous cost of standing armies, and other more practical aspects of the subject, the speaker concluded with a vivid picture of the horrors of a battlefield, and was in the act of quoting a verse of poetry, when he was suddenly silenced by an unlooked-for interruption.

"The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, The—"

Bang!

Every one started; something like a miniature representation of the "bursting shell" had just exploded in the neighbourhood of the blackboard. A boy sitting close by stooped down and picked up from the floor a small fragment of burnt tissue-paper.

"Who threw that?" he exclaimed.

"What is it?" asked the chairman.

"Why, one of those 'throw-downs.'"

Redbrook glanced round the room in angry astonishment.

"Look here," he said sharply, "I don't know who did it, but if any of you have come to play the fool, you'd better leave the room at once, for we aren't going to have any more nonsense like we had the other night."

The audience turned in their seats, and stared at one another in amazement. Most of my readers will probably have some practical knowledge of the small, round paper pellets known as "throw-downs," which explode when flung against anything; and it was difficult to imagine that any member of the select and decorous Melchester School Debating Society would cause an interruption by flinging such things about in the middle of an important discussion.

"Go on, Carter," said the chairman.

"Shan't!" returned the other, snappishly. "I've finished."

Shepherd was now called upon to open on the side of the negative.

"War," he began, assuming his accustomed attitude, and beaming round on his listeners with a very good imitation of the Powler smile—"war is like surgery. When drugs are of no avail, we are often forced to resort to the use of the knife, and so—"

Another mimic bomb exploded in the very centre of the speaker's waistcoat, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. Redbrook sprang to his feet in a towering rage, and as he did so another projectile burst on the open pages of the minute book.

"Who threw those things? I will find out!"

A babel of voices rose in reply. No one had done it. The door was shut, the windows were fastened, a hasty search was made in the cupboards and under the back desks, in the hope of discovering a lurking enemy; but even while the search was in progress another missile went off under the secretary's chair.

"Who is it?" shouted Redbrook. "Where do they come from?"

"That seemed to fall from the ceiling," answered Heningson; "yes—look there!"

Above the hanging gas-jet in the centre of the room was an ornamental iron grating, between the apertures of which there now appeared about an inch and a half of brass tube, like the end of a big peashooter. A moment later there was a prodigious puff, and four "throw-downs" exploded with a simultaneous crash in the centre of the chairman's table.

"There's some one up on the roof!" cried several voices.—"Stop it, you villain!"

"How could any one get there?"

"There's a trap-door at the end of the passage," exclaimed Shepherd. "Quick! we shall cut him off."

A rush was made for the door, but it refused to open; some one had evidently blocked the exit from the outside, by placing a short form lengthways across the passage. The drawing classroom formed part of a one-storied building which bounded one side of the school quadrangle. Finding the door closed, Shepherd dashed to the nearest window, and flinging it open dropped out on to the gravel, an example which was speedily followed by the chairman and several members of the audience. Breathing out all manner of threats, they ran round through the nearest door and gained the entrance to the passage. The trap-door in the ceiling was wide open, and communicating with it was a curious, home-made ladder, consisting of an old post, with half a dozen rough cross pieces fastened to it with stout nails. A candle end was lying on the floor, and with its aid Shepherd climbed up and explored the roof; but the bird had flown.

After such an interruption it was no use attempting to continue the debate, and Redbrook and his companions spent the remainder of the evening trying to discover the authors of this outrage.

The culprits, however, had made good their escape; no one remembered having seen the ladder before, and it was impossible to say to whom it belonged. The members of the debating society were clearly outwitted; and not wishing to make the story of their discomfiture too public, they determined for the present to let the matter drop, at the same time announcing their intention of taking dire vengeance on any irreverent jokers who should rashly attempt to disturb their meetings in future. Two days later, Valentine was sitting at his desk reading, when he was joined by his cousin.

"I borrowed your brass ruler the other afternoon," said the latter, producing something from under his coat.

"Yes, I know all about it, you villain!"

"I only used it as a sort of pea-shooter."

"Oh, I've heard all about your little game; Preston told me."

Jack tried to look innocent, and then laughed.

"It's no use, Val, old chap, you'll never make a good boy of me. It's the old story of the silk purse and the sow's ear."

Valentine laughed too.

"I'm afraid I never shall," he answered. "The joke is that you're always ready to bring the whole place about your ears with some mad prank, and then when a cartload of bricks does fall on your head, you say, 'It's just your luck, and that—'"

"A collection will be taken at the door in aid of the poor fund at the close of the present service," interrupted the other. "Good-bye—I'm off!"

He moved away a step or two, then came softly back, and began to rumple his cousin's hair; whereupon an exciting struggle ensued, which brought them both down on to the floor, and ended with the edifying spectacle of the preacher sitting flushed and triumphant on the congregation's chest.



CHAPTER XI.

"OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN—"

"Above all, beware of the cat."—The Ugly Duckling.

"Here, Val, you're just the man I want! Tell me something to say."

It was a broiling afternoon. The summer term had once more come round, and Jack, with his coat off, was sitting in a shady corner of the schoolroom wrestling with a letter to Queen Mab.

"I write to her nearly every blessed week," he continued, "and the consequence is I've never got anything to say. I've told her how jolly it is to think that in four weeks' time we shall be at Brenlands again; and now I'm stuck, and I can't get any further."

"Have you told her how well you've been doing in cricket this season?"

"No."

"Well, I have; so it doesn't much matter. Look here! Raymond Fosberton's outside, and wants to see you."

"Oh, tell him to go to Bath!" answered Jack, making another stab at the ink-pot with his pen. "I want to finish this letter."

"No, come along," answered Valentine, laughing. "You must be civil to the fellow; he's been waiting about for nearly a quarter of an hour."

"Do him good," growled the scribe, reluctantly pitching his untidy epistle into a very disorderly desk. "He only comes here to show off. Just because he's in a lawyer's office, he thinks he's a big pot, and all he does is to write copies like a kid in the Lower School."

According to his own opinion, Raymond Fosberton had blossomed out into the full-blown man. He wore a light check suit of the very latest fashion, a rosebud adorned his button-hole, and he tapped the toe of his highly-polished, patent-leather boots with the point of a silver-mounted cane.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed; "what the dickens d'you want to keep a chap waiting so long for? I can tell you my time's more valuable than yours. Look here! I'm sorry I haven't been able to ask you boys to come and see me before, but nearly every night since I've been here I've been engaged. However, I want you to get leave to come and have tea at my rooms on Wednesday, and after that we'll go to the fair. You know what I mean. It's held once a year in a big field on the other side of the town; there are shows, and round-abouts, and all that sort of thing."

"Thanks," answered Valentine, "but I'm afraid we can't go."

"Why not?"

"Because the rule of the school is that no boys are allowed to go to Melchester Fair. Old Westford is awfully strict about it. Two years ago some fellows went, and had a row with one of the showmen, and it got into the papers."

"Oh, rubbish! you can say you're only going out to tea." Valentine shook his head.

"Oh, yes, you can," continued Raymond. "By-the-bye, there's a fellow here called Rosher, isn't there? My guv'nor knows his people, and told me to ask him out sometimes; tell him to come too, if he can."

"We can't do it," answered Valentine decisively; "while the fair's on, Westford won't even give fellows leave to go down into town."

"Nonsense!" answered Raymond contemptuously. "You leave it to me, and I'll manage it all right. Now I must cut back to the office. Ta! ta!"

On Wednesday afternoon the two cousins were preparing to start for the cricket field, when a small boy brought them word that the headmaster wished to see them for a moment in his study.

"What's the row now, I wonder?" said Jack. "'Pon my word, it's so long since I went to the old man's study that I feel quite nervous."

The interview was not of a distressing nature. "I have received a letter from your uncle," began Mr. Westford, "asking for you to be allowed to go and meet him at the station this afternoon at five o'clock. He wishes also to see Rosher, so you can tell him that he may go. Be back, of course, in time for supper."

"I wonder what brings Uncle Fosberton to Melchester," said Valentine to Jack as they walked away together.

"Can't say," returned the other. "I don't want to see him; but I suppose we must go. Let's hunt up Rosher."

A few minutes before five, the three boys entered the booking-office at the railway station.

"I wonder which platform it is!" said Jack. "Hallo! there's Raymond."

The gentleman in question came forward, flourishing his silver-mounted cane.

"Well, my dear nephews," he cried, laughing. "How are you to-day? Did old Westford get my letter all right?"

"What letter?" asked Valentine.

"Why, the letter asking for you to come out."

"But uncle wrote that!"

"Not a bit of it!" answered Raymond triumphantly. "I did it. I had a bit of the manor note-paper, and I sent it to our man to post it from Grenford. Ha! ha! I told you I'd manage the business!"

Rosher chuckled, Jack whistled, but Valentine remained silent.

"Look here, Raymond," said Valentine, after a moment's pause, "I tell you straight, I don't believe in this sort of thing. I'm going back."

"Don't be a fool, man," retorted the other. "You can't go back now, or they'll want to know the reason. Come along to my diggings and have some tea, and I'll bear all the blame."

With some reluctance Valentine agreed to go with the party to his cousin's lodgings. Raymond did not seem on very good terms with his landlady. The tea was a long time coming; and when at length it did make its appearance, the fare consisted only of bread and butter, and a half-empty pot of jam.

"Sorry I can't offer you anything more," remarked the host, "but just now I've run rather short of cash. Better luck next time."

As soon as the meal was over, Raymond repeated his proposal that they should visit the fair.

"It's an awful joke," he said. "I'm going, and you chaps may as well come along too."

"It's all very well for you to go," answered Jack, "but with us it's different. Any one can see by our hat-bands that we belong to the school; and if it gets to Westford's ears that we've been, we shall stand a jolly good chance of being expelled."

"Oh, well! if you're afraid, don't go," answered Raymond, with a sneer. "I thought you were a chap who didn't care for anything. Will you go, Rosher?"

"I don't mind."

"Come on, then; don't let's stick here all the evening."

The four boys put on their hats and sauntered out into the street. Valentine said good-night, and turned off in the direction of the school; but Jack lingered behind with the other two.

"That's right," said Raymond, taking his arm; "I knew you'd come."

The evening was always the gayest part of the day at Melchester Fair. Crowds of people from the town and surrounding neighbourhood jostled each other in the open spaces between the tents and booths, while the noise of bands, steam-organs, and yelling showmen was something terrific.

"I say, have either of you fellows got change for a sovereign?" asked Raymond. "You haven't? well, you pay, and I'll settle up with you some other time."

The boys wandered round the field, listening to the cheap Jacks, and the proprietors of various exhibitions, which were all "just a-goin' to begin." They patronized a shooting-gallery, where they fired down long tubes with little rifles, which made the marksman's hands very black, and seemed to carry round the corner. Jack, however, succeeded in hitting the bull's-eye, and ringing the bell, and was rewarded with a handful of nuts.

"Come on," said Rosher; "let's have a turn on the wooden horses," and the party accordingly moved off in the direction of the nearest round-about. The steeds were three abreast, and Raymond mounted the one on the outside. A little group of factory boys were standing close by, and, just as the engine started, one of them thought fit to enliven the proceedings with a joke.

"Hallo, mister! how much starch d'you put on your weskit?"

"That much!" answered Raymond, snappishly, and leaning outwards in passing he dealt the speaker a sharp cut with his cane.

"Yah! Thatches!" cried the boy, and every time the whirligig brought his assailant into view the shout was repeated.

In the year of grace 1877 some traces still remained of an ancient feud between the school and the boys of the town. The name "Thatches" had been invented by the latter on account of the peculiar pattern of straw hat worn by their adversaries; while the answering taunt always used in those warlike times was, "Hey, Johnny, where's your apron?" a remark which greatly incensed the small sons of toil, who usually wore this garment.

"What have you been doing to those chaps?" asked Jack, as the horses slowed down and the yell was repeated.