"Oh, well!" said Howard proudly, flushing as he spoke; "if you don't want to come, why"—
Mr. Burrows' hand was laid on Howard's arm. "Don't spoil a good, noble thing, my boy. It is all new to Edward; urge him."
Mr. Burrows spoke low, so no one else could hear him, and turned away.
At recess Howard sought out Tip.
"I honestly hope you'll come to-night, Tip, for you're a good fellow to play games with, and the boys would all like to have you."
Tip had quarrelled with his ill-humour, and it had vanished.
"I'll come," he said, in a cheery tone; "only I'll look like a big rag-bag by the side of you fellows."
"Never mind," said Howard, turning to join the boys, "you come."
Why had Howard Minturn invited him to the grand birthday party? This was the question that puzzled Tip. Had he known the reason, it would have been like this: Mr. Minturn had never quite lost sight of Tip since the circus. He wanted to help him,—wanted to do it through his son; only he wanted the son to think that he did it himself. Knowing Howard pretty well, he said, when they were seated at breakfast that morning,—
"I've just been reading about a real hero."