s all start. It was a sound of scuffling and laughter and
shouting, in the midst of which my uncle's voice was drowned. Whoever
the visitors were, they appeared not to be quite sure of their quarters,
for they were trying every door they came to on their way up. At length
they came nearer, and a voice, the tones of which were only too
familiar, shouted, "Come on, you fellows. We'll smoke him out.
Batchelor ahoy there! Wonder if he lives on the roof."

It was Whipcord's voice, whom I had not seen since my accident, and who
now had fixed on this evening of all others to come with his friends and
pay me a visit!

"It's Whipcord," I said to Jack; "he mustn't come in! Let's barricade
the door, anything to keep them out."

Jack, who looked fully as alarmed as I did, was quite ready to agree,
but my uncle, who had hitherto been an astounded witness of the
interruption, interfered, and said, "No--they shall come in. These are
some of your reformed friends, I suppose, Mr Fred. I'd like to see
them. Let them come in."

"Oh no, uncle," I cried, in agitation, "they mustn't come in, indeed
they mustn't, they are--"

As I spoke the shouting outside increased twofold, and at the same
moment the door was flung open, and Whipcord, Crow, the Field-Marshal,
the Twins, Daly, and Masham, burst into the room!

Is it any wonder if, as I looked first at them, then at my uncle, a
feeling of utter despair took possession of me?

They were all, evidently, in a highly festive state of mind and ready
for any diversion.

"Here he is," cried Whipcord, who appeared to be leader of the party.
"Here you are, Batch, my boy--we got your address at the police-station
and came to look you up, and oh, I say, what a glorious old codger!"

This last note of admiration was directed to my uncle, who sat sternly
back in his chair, gazing at the intruders with mingled wrath and
astonishment.

"I say, introduce us, Batch," said the Field-Marshal, "and to the other
aristocrat, too, will you?"

"Why, that's Bull's-eye," cried Crow. "You know, Twins, the fellow I
told you about who's--"

"Oh, that's the Botany Bay hero, is it?" cried Masham. "I must shake
hands with him. One doesn't get the chance of saying how d'ye do to a
real gaol-bird every day. How are you, Treadmill?"

Jack, whose face was very pale, and whose eyes flashed fiercely,
remained motionless, and with an evident effort, as Masham held out his
hand.

"What--thinks we are