"I've got an idea the man is Peacock's son," he said. "And I feel a regular traitor to Peacock now every time I look at him."
"Then why don't you ask him for some money?" I naturally answered.
"I feel he hasn't got any," replied Percy. "But I can try."
"Besides," I said, "his son may be an officer, and, of course, they would be far above parcels."
"I hope he is," said Percy; "but I don't think he is. And nobody would be above a parcel at a time like that."
Anyway he asked Peacock, and Peacock gave him sixpence, and wished he could do better. This made two and twopence; and the same day Percy found a threepenny piece in the playground; and though, at another time, he would have mentioned this, with a view of returning it to the proper owner, now he didn't, but said it was a Providence, and added it to the rest.
And this gave him another hopeful idea, and he mentioned the parcel for his Tommy in his prayers, morning and evening, and asked me to do so too. I was fed up with the whole thing by now, because Percy was getting fairly tormented by it, and even said he saw the Tommy looking at him in broad daylight sometimes--over the playground wall, or through the window in the middle of a class. Still I obliged him, and prayed four times for him to get his two and sevenpence; but there was no reply whatever; and in this way two days were wasted.
Then he had a desperate but brilliant idea, and told me. He said:
"After school on Friday, in the half-hour before tea, I'm going to break bounds and go down into Merivale and stand by the pavement and sing the solo from the anthem we did last Sunday! Many people who sing along by the pavement make money by doing so, and I might."
"If you're caught, Dunston will flog you," I reminded him.