he dormitory stood a tall, cadaverous-looking man of
some fifty years or thereabouts whom I had not before seen. To him Tom
now briefly introduced me in the most laconic fashion.

"New boy, Mr Smallpage," he said.

"Oh, new boy--Leigh, I suppose, eh?" replied this gentleman in an absent
sort of way--"Is he in your charge, Larkyns?"

"Well, sir," said Tom, rather at a loss to answer this question, not
wishing to tell an untruth and yet desirous for certain reasons that I
should be associated with him, "I've made friends with him, that's all."

"Ah, then, he can have that vacant bed next yours," decided Mr
"Smiley," kindly, seeing Tom's drift.

"Thank you, sir," said my chum in a gleeful tone at having his wish
gratified. "Come along with me, Martin, and I will show you your place.
Is it not jolly?" he whispered to me as we proceeded up the room along
the centre space left vacant between the two rows of beds lining the
walls on either side, "why, it's just the very thing we wanted!"

Tom's bed and mine were close to one of the windows in the front of the
house, which fact delighted me very much, as I thought I should be able
to see the sea as soon as I woke in the morning.

My chum, however, threw a damper on this reflection by suggesting that,
when the first gong sounded our _reveille_ at six o'clock AM, we should
have such sharp work before us to dress and get down to the refectory in
the quarter of an hour allowed us for the operation, that unless I
wished to lose my breakfast--a dreadful contingency considering the then
empty state of my body--I should have precious little time for star-
gazing!

Tom's mention of "shovelling on my clothes," as he delicately termed the
act of dressing, immediately reminded me of my box, which I had quite
forgotten all about ever since my leaving it behind me in the little
room out of the hall on the termination of my first interview with Dr
Hellyer.

"I wonder where it is?" I asked Tom.

"Oh, it has been brought up-stairs all right. The old woman would see
to that," he said.

"Then where is it?" I inquired. "I want my night-shirt now."

"It is probably in the locker room," replied my chum, "shall I ask
Smiley to let us go and see?"

"Do, if you don't mind," said I; and Tom, whisking down the room in a
somewhat neglige costume, readily obtained the requisite "permit of
search." He then beckoned me to follow him towards a second door
communicating from the dormitor