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 silenc