Fisher’s study did not get over that morning’s quest in a hurry. When the owner returned, he wished devoutly he had never been ass enough to confide the task to a couple of raw Goths like these. Whatever chance there may have been before of discovering any mislaid article, it was now hopelessly and irredeemably gone.
He dismissed the two youngsters with a kick, which they felt to be very ungrateful after all the trouble they had taken. Limp in spirits and grimy in personal appearance, they crawled away to the shop to console themselves with ginger-beer and a cheese-cake.
“Hullo,” said Lickford, as they arrived, “what have you been up to? Sweeping the chimneys? I heard they wanted it on your side. What’ll you have? We’ve been doing prime. Where have you been?”
“We’ve been hunting about in my senior’s study for some club money that’s lost; about four pou—”
“Shut up!” said Ashby, nudging his companion. “What do you want to blab all over the place about it for?”
“How much?—four pounds?” said a voice near; and looking round, to their horror they saw Dangle.
“All right,” said Ashby, trying to save the situation, “it’s bound to turn up. He stuck it in a specially safe place, and can’t remember where. Look sharp with the ginger-beer, young Lickford.”
“Money down first,” said Lickford. “Catch me trusting any of you Classic chaps with tick! You’ve got no tin generally, to begin with, and then you go and lose it.”
“That’s better than stealing it,” retorted Ashby.
“The thing is,” said Dangle, breaking in on these pleasant recriminations, “it wouldn’t matter if it was Fisher’s own money that was lost. But it belongs to all of us.”