"Wish he wouldn't harp on that cough," murmured Desmond. "It's really nothing much; a bit of a bother first thing in the morning. Now, Colin, what's this stunt?"
Sinclair told his story simply and without hesitation. There were no secrets between the two chums. They shared their pleasures, their, for the most part trivial, troubles, their perplexities, and their worldly goods (as far as their school belongings went) whole-heartedly.
"Fact is," said Colin, "my governor has been losing a lot of money since the War, and he can't afford to keep me at Stockmere after this term. I found out quite accidentally that the pater had been pretty badly hit for some time. I ought to have left a year ago, only he kept it dark and managed to let me stay on. He was hoping for things to improve financially only they didn't. So that's that."
"Hard lines!" ejaculated Desmond sympathetically.
"That's why the governor didn't come up to the sports," resumed Sinclair. "He simply couldn't run to it. And he's sold his car and cut down a lot of things, but he's losing ground, so to speak. His pension was quite all right once upon a time, but now it goes nowhere."
"And what are you going to do?" asked Tiny.
"I hardly know," replied his chum. "Of course, my idea of going to an engineering college is off. After all's said and done, it means earning nothing until a fellow's well over twenty-one, and then he's lucky if he makes as much as a miner or a bricklayer. At any rate, I've got to do something—to earn something. In fact, I don't think I ought to have come back this term."
"Well, what are you going to do?" asked Desmond.
Colin shook his head.
"I hardly know," he replied. "Anything to help things along. I've got thirteen weeks to think over it. By that time—but, I say, Tiny, you won't say a word to any of the other fellows?" he added anxiously.