And so it fared with our unlucky heroes. No sooner had they escaped the fangs of Mr Webster, than they found themselves writhing in the clutches of a new terror, twice as bad and twice as awkward.
In the first flush of escape, Dick had crammed the Templeton Observer, which he had paid sixpence for in celebration of the finding of the pencil, into his pocket, and never given it another thought. During the evening, however, having occasion to search the pocket for another of its numerous contents, he came upon it, and drew it out.
“What’s that—the Templeton Observer?” asked Heathcote, becoming suddenly serious. “Anything in it?”
“I haven’t looked,” said Dick, becoming serious, too, and inwardly anathematising the public press.
“May as well,” said Heathcote.
“Perhaps there’ll be something about the All England Tennis Cup in it,” said Coote.
Dick opened the paper, and his jaw dropped at the first paragraph which met his eye.
“Well,” said Heathcote, reflecting his friend’s consternation in his own looks, “whatever is it?”
“Has Lawshaw won it, or Renford?” inquired Coote.
Dick passed the paper to Georgie, who read as follows:—