“Where?”
“Suppose we have it in Rollitt’s study. He was a jolly good sort, you know. It would please him.”
The logic of this proposition did not detain the meeting.
They decided to go in the usual way. That is, the four Classic boys boldly marched into their house together, and the five Moderns dropped in one by one artlessly and quite by accident.
As Fisher minor passed his brother’s door he thought he would just look in. At the same moment the house matron, with a very important face, was bounding into the room.
“Master Fisher,” said she, “Mrs Wisdom’s just sent back that flannel shirt of yours.”
“Oh! At last. She’s only had it six weeks. About long enough,” said Fisher major. “I’d given it up for lost.”
“It got left at the bottom of the bag, and she never noticed it till last night. And what do you think, Master Fisher! there was this in the breast pocket.” And she handed him a little brown paper parcel.
Fisher major snatched at it with an ejaculation more like horror than anything else, and tore the paper open.
Four sovereigns and some silver dropped on to the table.