have a game, then. Why, hulloa, how pale you look! don't
smoke any more of that cigar."

"I do fee--feel a little queer," said Edwards, who certainly did not
exaggerate his sensations. A cold sweat burst out on his forehead, his
hands were moist and clammy, and though it was a warm evening he
shivered from head to foot, while he had a violent pain in his stomach
which prevented his standing upright.

"Come, man alive, don't give way. We must be getting back soon," said
Saurin, who was rather dismayed at the idea of taking his friend to his
tutor's in that condition, and the consequent risk of drawing suspicion
on himself. "Would not a drop of brandy be a good thing, Slam?"

"Well, no, not in this here case," said Slam. "The missus shall mix him
a little mustard and warm water; that's what he wants."

"You are sure it's only the cigar," groaned Edwards. "I am not poisoned
or anything?"

"Poisoned! how can you be? You have taken nothing but the beer, and we
have all drunk that. No, it's the tobacco; it always makes fellows
rather seedy at first, and I expect you swallowed a lot of the smoke."

"I did."

"Well, then, drink this and you will be all right presently."

Edwards took the emetic, which had the effect peculiar to that
description of beverage. It was not a pleasant one; indeed, he thought
he was going to die; but after a while the worst symptoms passed off,
and he was able to walk home.

Saurin and Edwards lodged at the same tutors, and they went up to the
room of the latter without attracting attention. Here Edwards, under
the other's directions, washed his face, cleaned his teeth, changed his
jacket and neck-tie, and put some scented pomatum on his hair, and then
lay down on his bed till the supper-bell should ring.

"I shall not be able to eat," he remonstrated. "Do you think I need go
down?"

"Oh, yes; come and have a try, or else it will excite suspicion. You
would have to show at prayers directly afterwards, you know, so it will
not make much difference. You have nothing to do with old Cookson
between this and supper--no exercise or anything?"

"No, thank goodness!"

"That's all right. You have a good hour for a nap, and your head will
be better then. I must go and sweeten myself now."

I regret to say that "old Cookson" was the shockingly disrespectful way
in which this flagitious youth spoke of his reverend and learned tutor.

CHAPTER THREE.

TOM BULLER.

Weston Col