"It is distinctly unusual to grant a special exeat so early in the term, Forge," said Mr. Rooke, lifting his eyebrows. "Must you really go to Moston this afternoon?"
"That I should go is vital, sir, though I regret I cannot tell you why."
"Rather awkward, though, Forge. Cayton is still away, and Lyon's rule-of-thumb methods do not exactly make him an ideal deputy prefect. Your absence may annoy Mr. Wykeham. Won't you take an afternoon off next week instead?"
"I'm sorry to seem unreasonable, sir. But, with or without a special exeat, I must go to Moston to-day. So you will see how serious the situation is."
The housemaster shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "Well, Forge, if you put it like that, I suppose I must sign," he said. "Here's your exeat. Don't be too long away. Discipline is getting rather slacker than I like. There was an appalling hubbub in the shrubbery yesterday. Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. Wykeham were out to tea.... By the way, Forge, I'm sorry for the stoppage of your sprightly little Rag. It was doing the House good. May I help at all—can I do anything?"
Dick was touched by the kindly offer, and had his difficulty been other than a financial one, he would have gladly confided in Mr. Rooke. But he knew the house-master had no private means, and it would be embarrassing to refuse any money that might be volunteered.
"You're awfully good, sir," he said, "and I may take advantage of your kind offer if nothing comes of my visit to Moston."
An hour later Dick had discovered Chuck Smithies in a dark little office at the top of some very steep stairs. On the door was a small brass plate, bearing the words "Smithies' Advance Bank and Commission Agency".
"Hallo, sonny! Got your eye back to its normal colour, I see," was the bookmaker's cheery greeting. "Wanting me particularly?"
"I want you badly," said Dick. Then, having made up his mind to take the plunge, he told Smithies the full story of his editorial dilemma, and anxiously waited to see what his sporting friend would say.