"I'm certain of that," said Felgate, laughing, "and if only I'd got any tin I'd be delighted. By the way, I fancy I did see a sixpence kicking about somewhere."

"Thanks, awfully. That'll be a stunning lift. He's sure to be extra civil to you after it."

"Oh, I see. Bribery, is it?" said Felgate, laughing. "And what particular reason have you for getting Mr Chuckey a testimonial?"

"Ha, ha!" said Arthur, who felt bound to laugh at the senior's joke.

"Jolly good name for him. Oh, some of the fellows think he's backed us up, you know, about Bickers and all that. Thanks awfully for the sixpence, Felgate. I'll be sure and stick your name at the top of the list. I say, when's that trial adjourned to?"

"I don't know. By the way, youngster, what a smart barrister you made that evening. Where did you pick it all up?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Arthur, feeling rather flattered. "Dig and I went and heard a chap tried at the Old Bailey once. It was rather slow.

But, I say, do you really think I doubled up Dig well? He was awfully wild."

"I don't wonder. You did it splendidly. Whatever put all the things into your head?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Arthur, getting a little "tilted" with all this flattery from a senior. "It was a notion I had."

"Not half a bad notion," said Felgate, beginning to think the game was worth following up. "Not one fellow in a dozen would have thought about that match-box up on the ledge."

"That's just it. It must have been a tall chap to put it up there."

"Of course, unless someone got on a chair."

"I thought of that," responded Arthur grandly; "only there were one or two other things to come out if I'd had time. I say, do you know when it's adjourned to?"

"I don't know. I hope not for long. I'd like to hear what else you've got. I could never make up such things to save my life."

"Perhaps I didn't make them up," said Arthur, who felt that for once in a way thorough justice was being done to his own cleverness.

"You don't mean you can produce the actual match-box? Why, you ought to be made Attorney-General or Lord Chancellor."

"Can't I, though, I can!" said Arthur, "and something else too. Suppose we'd found the door was kept open with a wedge of paper addressed in a certain handwriting to a certain name--eh? and suppose the sack had the initials on it of the same fellow that the paper and match-box belonged to--eh? That would make a pretty hot case for our side, wouldn't it?"

"My word, youngster; you're a sharp one. But I suppose it's all make- up!"

"Not a bit of it," said Arthur, flushed by his triumph.

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Felgate sceptically.

"I'll show it you now," said Arthur, "if you'll promise to keep it dark.

I'm not making up a bit of it."

"If you aren't, all I can say is--Where are they?"

"Come and see," said Arthur, leading the way to his study.

Dig was out on leave in the village.

"There you are," said Arthur, when he had opened his locker and produced the precious relics. "There's the match-box. Have you ever seen any others of the same kind? I have."

"I fancy I saw one once," said Felgate.

"Belonging to a fellow six foot two who could reach up to the ledge?"

Felgate nodded.

"Now look at that paper--a bit of the _Standard_: there's part of the address. I fancy I know my sister Daisy's fist when I see it. There you are! That was screwed up to jam open the door to keep it from sliding-to. Six foot two again. Then there's the sack--precious like an M and an R those two letters, aren't they? and M R is precious like the initials of six foot two again. I don't blame him if he did scrag old Bickers--very good job; and as it happens, it don't hurt our house very much now we're going to get all the sports; and I'm booked for the Swift Exhibition--20 a-year for three years. We mean to back him up, and that's one reason why we're going to give him the testimonial-- though none of the chaps except Dig knows about these things. I say, be sure you keep it quiet, Felgate, won't you? I trust you not to tell anybody a word about it."

"Don't you be afraid of me, youngster," said Felgate. "I'd advise you to take good care of those things. We'll have some fun with them when the trial comes on again. Don't go saying too much about it till then.

Did I give you the sixpence? No? There it is. Put it down from 'A Friend.' I must go now, young 'un."

He departed, leaving Arthur to pack up his treasures, amid some misgivings lest the sixpence in his hand was after all hardly worth the secret he had bought it with.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

CHALLENGING THE RECORD.

On the Monday before Railsford's sports, Ainger and Barnworth sat rather dismally conning a doc.u.ment which lay on the table between them.

It was Smedley's report of the School sports held the Sat.u.r.day before, and was sufficiently alarming to dishearten any ordinary reader.

"'The Mile Race. Smedley 1, Brans...o...b.. 2. Time 4 minutes 50 seconds.'

Whew!" said Ainger, "I can't beat that; 4.52 is the shortest I've done it in, and I doubt if I could do that again."

"Fiddlesticks! If you don't do it in 4.48 you deserve to be sent home to the nursery. But do you see Brans...o...b.. gave up before the end?

That's odd. I rather thought he was the better man of the two."

"Brans...o...b.. seems to be down on his luck altogether this term," said Ainger. "I fancy he hasn't a very sweet time at Bickers's."

"But he ought to have won the mile, for all that. He's got the longest legs in Grandcourt, and used to have the best wind."

"Gone stale," said Ainger, "and growing too fast. Why, he must be as tall as Railsford already; and he's good for an inch or so more."

"Poor beggar! But what about the high jump?"

"High jump? Smedley and Clipstone a tie, 5 feet 4."

"Thank you," said Barnworth. "I may as well scratch at once. I once jumped that, but that was in the days of my youth."

"Fiddlesticks! If you don't clear 5 feet 5, you deserve to be sent home to a daily governess," said Ainger, laughing. "And, by the way, I hear Wake has been jumping finely lately. Mind he doesn't do it for you."

"Wake had better mind his own business," responded Barnworth. "I, a prefect and a very great person in this house, should greatly resent it if a Fifth-form fellow beat me at the jump. Upon my word I'd give him 100 lines."

"'Cricket-ball. Clipstone 77 yards.' What a poor throw! Felgate is sure to beat that, at any rate."

"Not if he can help," said Barnworth. "In fact, if I were you, I would either scratch him, or see someone else is in too, to make sure of it.