"Tell me what's the matter."
Page 188.
"Oh no, aunt," moaned the "Weasel," raising a face on which was depicted an expression of unutterable woe. "It isn't that! It's the cup—the Cock-house Cup! It's gone, and can't be found!"
"Well, what of that?" answered Aunt Polly, who could not realize the immense value which the trophy possessed in a schoolboy's eyes.
"Why—why," faltered the unhappy juvenile, almost weeping, "it's my fault! I did it!"
"You? What nonsense! Tell me directly what you mean."
When once started on the work of unburdening his soul, words came quickly enough.
"It was like this. You know I told you how Conway's won the cup. It's worth pounds and pounds; besides which, it's the one that has been played for ever since there was a Cock-house Cup, and it has all the names of the winners engraved on it, so it could never be replaced; and, oh! I believe the fellows would kill me if they knew it was my fault!"
"Yes; but how was it your fault?" interrupted the aunt.
"Why, after the match was over, there was a crowd in the pavilion, and I squeezed in too. Buckle had the cup, and he put it down close to me on a locker. Lots of fellows were chaffing old Buckle. I happened to have a key in my pocket that fitted the case, and, just for a lark, I managed to unlock it when no one was looking, and I slipped the cup inside the locker. I thought Buckle would notice at once that the box was lighter than before, and I never meant that he should go away without the cup; but just then Brise ordered us all to clear out of the pavilion. Young Roberts trod on my foot, and I chased him; and, somehow, I forgot all about what I'd done until yesterday morning, when some one told me that the cup was lost. Now they say one of Morgan's fellows stole it, and Mr. Conway is going to put the matter in the hands of the police."