"There was absolutely nothing in them, old chap—the simplest stuff you could imagine. I said as much to the editor-chap, who replied that their simplicity was their charm. I just jotted down the fairy-stories of the district, and described the funny folk who told them, and it clicked."
"You're a wise old bird, Roger," said Dick, almost worshipping this revelation of his chum's intellect. "I shall put a special paragraph in the new Rag about all this—yes, I shall—I'm editor-in-chief, so you can't stop me. Now, it's your turn to listen to me, and I think my tale about even beats yours, old lad!"
An opinion which Roger emphatically confirmed when, despite many excited interruptions from him, Dick had completed the yarn.
"Great!" commented Roger. "A thrill from beginning to end. Isn't it strange how things work out? Grand bit of compensation that Fluffy Jim, after spoiling your goal, should put that fifty-pound reward right under your nose. Rough gratitude for your services in snatching him from Juddy Stockgill's clutches, though he only meant to show you his 'cottage musical-box'."
They spent a happy afternoon in their study, exchanging confidences over the fire concerning almost everything that had happened during their enforced separation. One thing, and one thing only, did Dick keep from Roger, and that was his suspicion that Luke Harwood had had some hand in messing up the final tie. He wanted to bring an unprejudiced mind to that subject when he discussed it with Luke, which he fully intended to do at the first opportunity.
By dusk Roger knew nearly as much about Foxenby's affairs as if illness had not kept him away. He was sympathetic about the misfortune that had overtaken Dick's aunt, but rather thought that he would personally be able to make up for any loss of pocket-money in that direction by writing more sketches for the Press. Which shows how little success is needed to make an amateur author vain.
"The Rag must come out again," he said, "and that right speedily. The firm that prints the Foxonian shall do it for us this time—they're clean and above reproach."
"Right you are," said Dick. "I'm game. In an hour the fellows will be trooping in to supper which the Old Man is making a toothsome event to-night. On their way they'll pass the notice-board."
And thus it happened that, after a happy day of unexpected liberty, the Foxes were able to read more sympathetically than they would have done a day or two before, the following intimation on the hall notice-board:—
THE ROOKE'S HOUSE RAG