us boys at Randlebury.
He was the son of a country squire, who had the unenviable reputation of
being one of the hardest drinkers and fastest riders in his county; and
the boy had already shown himself only too apt a pupil in the lessons in
the midst of which his childhood had been passed. He had at his
tongue's tip all the slang of the stables and all the blackguardisms of
the betting-ring; and boy--almost child--as he was, he affected the
swagger and habits of a "fast man," like a true son of his father.

At Randlebury he had wrought incredible mischief. Tom Drift was not the
only soft-minded vain boy whom he had infected by his pernicious
example. Like all reckless swaggerers, he had his band of admirers, who
marked every action and drank in every word that fell from their hero's
lips.

It was just with such boys as Drift that his influence was most telling;
for Tom was a boy not without aptitude to note and emulate a powerful
example, whether it were good or bad, while his vanity rendered him as
pliant as wax to the hand of the flatterer.

Such was the party which assembled surreptitiously in Tom's study that
evening and partook of the smuggled supper.

Tom had had hard work to provide for his guests, and had succeeded only
at the risk of grave penalties if detected.

"I say, Tom, old horse, this is a prime spread!" said Gus; "where did
you get it?"

"Oh!" said Tom, "I had a new hat coming from Tiler's, so I got old
Tripes (the butcher) to make a neat brown-paper parcel of the kidneys,
and got them up in my gossamer. The old donkey might have done the
thing better though, for the juice squeezed through, and the inside of
my hat looks as if I had lately been scalped."

"Hard lines! But never mind, perhaps they'll put it down to the crack
you got on your forehead."

Tom flushed scarlet; any reference to his inglorious scuffle with
Charlie Newcome was odious to him, as Gus and the others knew well
enough. He said nothing, however, only scowled angrily.

"What!" said Gus, "does it hurt you still then? Never mind, it was a
good shot, and I wouldn't be ashamed of having floored you myself."

"He didn't floor me; I fell!" cried Tom indignantly.

"Did you? Rather a way fellows have when they get knocked down!"

"I was not knocked down, Gus, I tell you; and you'd better shut up!"

"All right, old horse! you mustn't mind a bit of chaff. I'm sure you've
taken it all very well."

"Yes," said Margetson,