n't they, Duff?"

"Yes," said Duffield, perceiving the joke, "for some burglary, or
something like that."

Heathcote breathed again at the word burglary, and made an heroic effort
to smile.

"Not at all," said Raggles, nudging his ally; "not a burglary, but boat-
stealing, isn't it, Webster?"

"Ah," said Mr Webster, who was a good man of business and fond of his
joke, "they never did find that young party, certainly."

"Shut up and don't be a fool!" said Heathcote, feeling the colour coming
to his face, and longing to be out in the open air.

"What's this the description was?" said Duffield, perching himself on
the corner of the counter and reading off the unhappy Heathcote's
personal appearance. "Good-looking boy of fourteen, with fair hair and
a slight moustache. Dressed in a grey tweed suit, masher collar, and
two tin sleeve-links. Not very intelligent, and usually wears a smudge
of ink under his right eye. Isn't that it?"

"That's something about the mark," said Mr Webster, laughing.

"Think of offering two pounds reward for a chap like that!" said
Raggles. "They must be hard up."

"Look here," said Heathcote, seeing that his only refuge lay in swagger,
"I'm not going to have any of your cheek, Raggles. Shut up, or I'll
lick you!"

"No fighting here, young gentlemen, please," said the affable
bookseller.

"Ha! ha!" said Raggles, enjoying himself under the security of
Duffield's alliance; "he's in a wax because we said it was only a
_slight_ moustache. He thinks we ought to have said a heavy one!"

"He may think it ought to be, but it ain't," said Duffield. "I never
saw such a slight one in all my days!"

It is rarely that any one sees reason to bless his own moustache, but on
this particular occasion, when he perceived the welcome controversy to
which it was giving rise, Georgie was very near calling down
benedictions on his youthful hairs. With great presence of mind he
recovered his good-humour, and diverted the talk further and further
into its capillary course. He backed his moustache against Duffield's
and Raggles' spliced together, he upbraided them with envy, and called
Webster to witness that the pimple on Raggles' lip, which he claimed as
the forerunner of his crop, had been there for the last six months with
never a sign of harvest.

Altogether, under shelter of his moustache, Georgie crept out of a very
awkward hobble, and finally out of Webster's shop, greatly to the relief
o