flap of the envelope.

Then tearing it open he read:

Westbourne Terrace, Thursday.

My Dear Mr Stratton:

Thank you for your note and its news. Accept my congratulations. You
certainly deserved to gain the post; the work will be most congenial,
and it will give you an opportunity for carrying on your studies,
besides placing you in the independent position for which you have
worked so long and hard. I wish my dear old friend and schoolfellow,
your mother, had lived to see her boy's success. You must go on now
with renewed confidence, and double that success.

Very sincerely yours, Rebecca Jerrold.

Malcolm Stratton, Esquire.

P.S.--I shall be at home to-morrow evening. Come and see me, and
bring your friend. Nobody will be here but the girls, who are going
to give me a little music, as my brother dines out.

Stratton's face flushed warmly, and he stood staring before him at the
window.

"I could not go there now," he muttered, "without seeing the old man
first. It would not be honourable. I meant to wait, but--I must speak
at once."

He re-read the letter, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure.

"And I asked her point blank, and she does not even refer to it. Then
it was her doing. God bless her! She has been using her interest and
working for me. It's her work, and she must approve of it."

He hurriedly thrust the letter into his breast as a double rap came at
his door, and, upon opening it, Percy Guest came in.

"Got your wire, old chap, and came on at once. Something the matter?"

"Yes; something serious."

"My dear old man, I'm so sorry. Want help--money? Don't keep me in
suspense."

"No, old fellow," cried Stratton proudly; "the news came this morning,
and I telegraphed to you directly."

"Not--"

"Yes, I am the successor of poor old Professor Raymond--the new curator
of the Headley Museum."

"Hurray!" cried Guest, snatching up a great bird-skin by the beak and
waving it round his head till he wrung its neck right off. "Oh, bother!
Three cheers for Professor Stratton! Bravo! Why, you'll be an awful
scientific swell. Malcolm, old chap, I am glad," he continued, flinging
the choice and valuable specimen up on to a bookcase, and grasping his
friend's hand. "You shall dine with me to-night, and we'll pour out
champagne libations to the gods."

"Sit down and be quiet," said Stratton gravely. "No, old fellow, I
can't dine with you to-night; I've s