s he blew out the light, "this
Mrs. Postwhistle appears to be a reliable woman."

Now, about the same time that Johnny's head was falling thus upon his
pillow, the Autolycus Club sat discussing plans for their next day's
entertainment.

"I think," said Jack Herring, "the Crystal Palace in the morning when
it's nice and quiet."

"To be followed by Greenwich Hospital in the afternoon," suggested
Somerville.

"Winding up with the Moore and Burgess Minstrels in the evening," thought
Porson.

"Hardly the place for the young person," feared Jack Herring. "Some of
the jokes--"

"Mr. Brandram gives a reading of _Julius Caesar_ at St. George's Hall,"
the Wee Laddie informed them for their guidance.

"Hallo!" said Alexander the Poet, entering at the moment. "What are you
all talking about?"

"We were discussing where to take Miss Bulstrode to-morrow evening,"
informed him Jack Herring.

"Miss Bulstrode," repeated the Poet in a tone of some surprise. "Do you
mean Johnny Bulstrode's sister?"

"That's the lady," answered Jack. "But how do you come to know about
her? Thought you were in Yorkshire."

"Came up yesterday," explained the Poet. "Travelled up with her."

"Travelled up with her?"

"From Matlock Bath. What's the matter with you all?" demanded the Poet.
"You all of you look--"

"Sit down," said the Briefless one to the Poet. "Let's talk this matter
over quietly."

Alexander the Poet, mystified, sat down.

"You say you travelled up to London yesterday with Miss Bulstrode. You
are sure it was Miss Bulstrode?"

"Sure!" retorted the Poet. "Why, I've known her ever since she was a
baby."

"About what time did you reach London?"

"Three-thirty."

"And what became of her? Where did she say she was going?"

"I never asked her. The last I saw of her she was getting into a cab. I
had an appointment myself, and was--I say, what's the matter with
Herring?"

Herring had risen and was walking about with his head between his hands.

"Never mind him. Miss Bulstrode is a lady of about--how old?"

"Eighteen--no, nineteen last birthday."

"A tall, handsome sort of girl?"

"Yes. I say, has anything happened to her?"

"Nothing has happened to her," assured him Somerville. "_She's_ all
right. Been having rather a good time, on the whole."

The Poet was relieved to hear it.

"I asked her an hour ago," said Jack Herring, who was still holding his
head between his hands as if to make sure it w