Nigel Furlonger met Tony Strife at the top of Wilderwick hill. He had dressed himself with more care than usual—in the girl's interest he must look respectable. Leonard and Janet had been immensely surprised when he told them he meant to go to the races. The Furlonger disreputableness owed some of its celebrity to the fact that it ran along channels of its own, neglecting those approved by wealth and fashion.
"Feel you've got too much cash?" jeered Leonard.
"I shan't do any betting to speak of."
"Don't you!" said Janey; "we're stony enough as things are."
"But I'm not bound to lose—I may win, and retrieve the family fortunes."
"Look here, my boy," said Len, "you leave the family fortunes alone. You've done too much in that line already."
Nigel coloured furiously—but the next moment his anger cooled; he had been wonderfully gentler during the last few days. He turned, and emptied his pockets on the table.
"There—take it all—except five bob for luck—and a half-crown for——" He was going to have said "the little girl's tea," but stopped just in time.
He occasionally wondered why he did not tell Len and Janet about Tony. But he felt doubtful as to what they might say. They would never understand how he could find such a comradeship congenial. Tony was only sixteen, and lived a very different life from his. They might laugh—no, they would not do that; more likely they would be anxious and compassionate, they would think it one of the unhealthy results of prison, they would be sorry for him, and he could not bear that they should be sorry for what brought him so much happiness. Besides, he had a natural habit of reserve—even before he went to prison he had kept secrets from Len and Janey.