“Through Gurley, and then over Rushton Common and past Slingcomb.”
“Never! I wish I could do thirty miles at a stretch.”
“So you will some day. Good-night.”
And Charlie went to bed, to dream of the lance-wood top of his rod and the trout in the Sharle.
In the meanwhile the conspirators had had another meeting in Drift’s den.
“Well, have you hooked him?” asked Gus.
“Yes; it’s all right. He took it all in like a lamb.”
“And all the school,” said Margetson, “is talking of the great reconciliation, and the gratification which that event will undoubtedly afford to your venerable mother.”
“Shut up, will you, Margetson? I’ve had quite enough of that chaff.”
“But I do assure you, Tom—”