"Five quid. Not a penny less," came the leering rejoinder.
The mention of such a sum caused the two Ranleighans to stare hard at one another. Rawlings' brow was deeply furrowed, his eyes had a far-away look. Trendall watched him anxiously. For his part five pounds was out of the question. Masters could have raised such a sum almost as easily, and that was saying a lot, for Masters was for ever grumbling at the smallness of his allowance, and the meanness of his people. But Rawlings had a wealthy father, one, too, who boasted of the expense caused by an expensive son. He liked to feel that his offspring was cutting a dash, and for that purpose gave him ample funds. Still, even he might kick if too great a demand were made.
"Got it!" cried Rawlings, snapping his fingers with delight. "Five pounds, you said, Tunstall?"
"That's the figure. It couldn't be done at a halfpenny less."
"There's that parting present we're giving to Tarton, the 'Stinks' master," suggested Rawlings. "They're asking for subscriptions to the fund, and——"
"You could get it for that, eh?" demanded Trendall eagerly.
"Easily. Tell the Governor I want to do the thing well. He'll never be any the wiser, and'll never ask questions. Very well, Tunstall, it's a big price, but I'll pay it. Five pounds for the job, half as soon as my next allowance arrives, the rest before the term's ended."
The wretch looked at him artfully, his eyes screwed up to narrow slits again.
"You promise?"
"Certainly."