Felgate nodded.
“Now look at that paper—a bit of the Standard: there’s part of the address. I fancy I know my sister Daisy’s fist when I see it. There you are! That was screwed up to jam open the door to keep it from sliding-to. Six foot two again. Then there’s the sack—precious like an M and an R those two letters, aren’t they? and M R is precious like the initials of six foot two again. I don’t blame him if he did scrag old Bickers—very good job; and as it happens, it don’t hurt our house very much now we’re going to get all the sports; and I’m booked for the Swift Exhibition—£20 a-year for three years. We mean to back him up, and that’s one reason why we’re going to give him the testimonial—though none of the chaps except Dig knows about these things. I say, be sure you keep it quiet, Felgate, won’t you? I trust you not to tell anybody a word about it.”
“Don’t you be afraid of me, youngster,” said Felgate. “I’d advise you to take good care of those things. We’ll have some fun with them when the trial comes on again. Don’t go saying too much about it till then. Did I give you the sixpence? No? There it is. Put it down from ‘A Friend.’ I must go now, young ’un.”
He departed, leaving Arthur to pack up his treasures, amid some misgivings lest the sixpence in his hand was after all hardly worth the secret he had bought it with.
Chapter Fourteen.
Challenging the Record.
On the Monday before Railsford’s sports, Ainger and Barnworth sat rather dismally conning a document which lay on the table between them.
It was Smedley’s report of the School sports held the Saturday before, and was sufficiently alarming to dishearten any ordinary reader.