n't!" said Crow--"at any rate, at Hawk
Street, for a more stuck-up, disagreeable, self-righteous prig I never
saw."

"I think," said Hawkesbury, mildly, "you judge him rather hardly, Crow.
Some of us thought the same at school; but I really think he means
well."

"Yes," said I, ready to follow up this lead, "his manner's against him,
perhaps, but he's a very good fellow at bottom."

"Besides," said Hawkesbury, "he really has had great disadvantages. He
has no friend at all in London, except Batchelor."

This was flattering, certainly, and naturally enough I looked sheepish.

"I beg your pardon," said Hawkesbury, suddenly perceiving his error, "I
meant that he has very few friends at all; isn't that so, Batchelor?"

"Yes," said I, "very few."

"Wasn't he in a grocer's shop, or some place of the kind, before he came
to us?" asked Doubleday.

"Yes," I answered.

"No wonder he's a rough lot," said Whipcord. "I should have thought his
governor might have done better for him than that."

"But," I said, feeling flurried by all this, and hardly knowing what I
said, "he hasn't got a father--that is--I mean--"

"What do you mean?" asked Flanagan.

I was in a dreadful plight. Every one must have seen by my confusion
that I was in a fix, and how was I to get out of it?

"Eh, what about his father?" demanded Doubleday.

"Oh," said I, "he's living abroad."

"Where, Botany Bay?" asked Daly, with a laugh.

I felt my face grow scarlet, and my whole manner utterly confused and
guilty-looking, as I pretended not to hear the question, and turned to
speak to Crow about some other matter. But my assailants were too quick
for me. My manner had roused their curiosity and excited their
suspicions, and I was not to be let off.

"Eh? Is that where he resides?" again demanded Daly.

"I really can't say where he lives," I replied, abruptly, and in a tone
so unlike my ordinary voice that I hardly recognised it myself.

I was conscious of a startled look on the faces of one or two of the
company as I said this, and of a low whistle from Crow.

What had I done?

"I don't think," said Hawkesbury, with his usual smile, "your friend
Smith would be grateful to you, Batchelor, for letting the cat out of
the bag like this."

"What cat?" I exclaimed, in an agitated voice. "You are all mistaken,
indeed you are. Smith's father is not a--I mean he's merely away for
his health, I assure you."

"Rather a lingering illness,"