"Oh, yes; Bailey! Early hours, Bailey--taking a stroll, eh? What in thunder brings you here this time of day? I thought good boys like you were fast asleep in bed."
Bailey looked sheepish, and felt it. There was something in the tone of Mr. Bankes' voice which was a little trying. Bertie hung his head, and held his peace.
"Lost your tongue? Poor little dear! Speak up. What are you doing here this time of day?"
"If you please, sir, I'm running away."
"Running away!"
For a moment Mr. Bankes started. Then he burst into a loud and continued roar of laughter, which had an effect upon Bertie very closely resembling that of an extinguisher upon a candle.
"I say, Bailey, what are you running away for?"
Under the circumstances Bertie felt this question cruel. When he had last seen Mr. Bankes the question had been put the other way. He had been treated as a poor-spirited young gentleman because he had not run away already. Plucking up courage, he looked up at his questioner.
"You told me to run away."
The only immediate answer was another roar of laughter. Something very like tears came into the boy's eyes, and his face assumed that characteristically sullen expression for which he was famous. This was not the sort of treatment he had expected.