it; whereas a woman--used to
wearing skirts and, thereby, having a lap already prepared--immediately
broadens that lap by the exactly opposite movement, knowing that
whatever is thrown has no chance of slipping through and falling to the
floor. When I tossed the coin to Ulchester, he instinctively jerked his
knees together. That settled it, of course. And now, if you won't mind
my saying it, I'm a bit sleepy and it is about time I took myself off to
home and bed."

"But not at this late hour, surely? You will never catch a train."

"I shan't need one, Major. They are holding a horse and trap ready for
me at the stables of the 'Coach and Horses.' Mr. Narkom promised to look
out for that, and--I beg pardon? No, I can't stop over night. Thank you
for the invitation, but Dollops would raise half London if I didn't turn
up after promising to do so."

"I should have thought you might have simplified matters and obviated
that by keeping the boy when you had him here," said the Major. "We
could easily have found a place to put him up for the night."

"Thanks very much, but I wouldn't interrupt the course of his studies
for the world," replied Cleek. "I've found an old chap--an
ex-schoolmaster, down on his luck and glad for the chance to turn an
honest penny--who takes him on every night from eight to ten; and the
young monkey is so eager and is absorbing knowledge at such a rate that
he positively amazes me. But now, really, it must be good-night. The boy
will be waiting and I must hear his lessons before I go to bed."

"Not surely when you are so tired as you say?"

"Never too tired for that, Major. It makes me sleep better and sounder
to know that the lad's getting on and that I've cheated the Devil in
just one more instance. Good-night and good luck to you. It's a bully
old world after all, isn't it, Major?" Then laughed and shook hands with
him and fared forth into the starlight, whistling.

CHAPTER XXX

Who feeds on Hope alone makes but a sorry banquet; and for the next few
weeks Hope was all--or nearly all--that came Cleek's way.

For some unexplained reason, Miss Lorne's letters--never very frequent,
and always very brief--had, of late been gradually growing briefer: as
if written in haste and from a mere sense of duty and at odd moments
snatched from the call of more absorbing things; and, finally, there
came a dropping off altogether and a week that brought no message from
her at all.

The old restl