“‘Assume that you get home with your prize, the Bishop’s head would be the worst enemy that his descendants ever had. It would always accuse you and grin at your follies. And would you dare proclaim the truth over in Pointview that you really have the skull of the Bishop of St. Clare?’
“The boy was scared. He had suddenly discovered an important fact. It was the north pole of his education.
“‘By Jove! I’m an ass,’ he said. ‘What shall I do with it?’
“‘Say nothing of the thing to anybody, not even to your father, and get rid of it.’
“‘That’s what I’ll do,’ he said, as he wrapped the skull in a piece of newspaper, hid it under his coat, and left me.
“We sailed next afternoon, and that evening, when Harry and I sat alone in a corner of the deck, I asked him what he had done with the Bishop’s head.
“‘Tried to get rid of it, but couldn’t,’ he said. ‘My conscience smote me, and I 29 took the old bone back to St. Mary’s. Going to do my duty like a man, you see, but it wouldn’t work. New verger on the job! I weakened. Then I put it in a box and had it addressed to a fictitious man in Bristol, and sent my valet to get it off by express. It went on, and was returned for a better address. You see, my valet––officious ass!––had left his address at the express office. How gauche of him! While we were lying at the dock a messenger came to my state-room with the Bishop’s head. I had to take it and pay five shillings and a sixpence for the privilege.’
“‘The old Bishop seems to be quite attached to his new relative,’ I said.
“‘Yes, but when the deck is deserted, by and by, I’m going to drop him overboard.’