night listening to him
as he turned from side to side in his sleep, and feeling that everything
and everybody was queer, especially my friend Smith.

CHAPTER FIVE.

HOW A

CHAPTER OF MISFORTUNES BEFEL MY FRIEND SMITH AND ME.

The summer wore on, and with it the gloom of Stonebridge House sunk
deeper and deeper into our spirits. After a week or two even the sense
of novelty wore off, and we settled down to our drudges' doom as if we
were destined all our lives never to see any place outside the
Henniker's domain.

If it hadn't been for Smith I don't know how I should have endured it.
Not that we ever had much chance of enjoying one another's society. In
school it was wholly impossible. In the playground (particularly after
our recent escapade), we had very little opportunity given us; and at
night, when secretly we did contrive to talk, it was with the constant
dread of detection hanging over us.

What concerned me most of all, though, was the bad way in which Smith
seemed to get on with every one of his schoolfellows except me, and--
perhaps Flanagan. With the bullies, like Philpot and Rathbone, he was
at daggers drawn; towards the others he never took the trouble to
conceal his dislike, while with Hawkesbury an explosion seemed always,
imminent.

I could not understand why he got on so badly, especially with
Hawkesbury, who certainly never made himself disagreeable, but, on the
contrary, always appeared desirous to be friendly. I sometimes thought
Smith was unreasonable to foster his instinctive dislike as he did.

"Jack," said I one night as he was "paying a call" to my bedside--"Jack,
I'm half beginning to think Hawkesbury isn't so bad a fellow after all."

"Why?" demanded Smith.

"Oh, I don't know. He's done me one or two good turns lately."

"What sort?"

"Well, he helped me in the Latin the other day, of his own accord,
and--"

"Go on," said Smith, impatiently.

"And he gave me a knife to-day. You know I lost mine, and he said he'd
got two."

Smith grunted.

"I'd like to catch him doing a good turn to me, that's all," said he.
"_I'd_ cure him of that!"

I didn't like to hear Smith talk like this. For one thing, it sounded
as if he must be a great deal less foolish than I was, which nobody
likes to admit; and for another thing, it seemed wrong and unreasonable,
unless for a very good cause, to persist in believing nothing good about
anybody else.

So I changed the subject.

"