chasing
some sandpaper wherewith to put the finishing touches to their work.

"I wish it was midsummer instead of Christmas," the former was saying.
"I don't want to go home. I'd much rather go to stay with Aunt Mab at
Brenlands."

Valentine was about to reply, when both boys were surprised by a
shabby-looking man suddenly crossing from the other side of the street
and taking up his stand directly in their path. The stranger wore a
battered brown hat, no necktie, and a suit of clothes which he might
have stolen from some scarecrow.

"'Afternoon, young gents!" he said.

"Good afternoon," answered Jack shortly, stepping out into the road.

The stranger turned and walked at their side.

"You may not remember me, gents, but I'm Ned Hanks."

"I don't care who you are," answered Valentine; "I don't know you."

"Oh, but I know you, sir; it's Mr. Fenleigh I'm a-talking to. I
thought, perhaps, you might like to stand me a drink."

"I say, just be off," cried Jack sharply, "here's old Westford coming."

The man fell back, and a moment later the two boys raised their caps to
the headmaster. Mr. Westford acknowledged their salutation with a cold
stare, which clearly showed that he had seen their late companion, and
was wondering what business two of his pupils had to be talking with
such a vagabond.

"I wonder who that fellow was!" said Jack.

"Oh, some tramp. I never saw him before."

"But he knew your name."

"Well, these beggars are up to all kinds of dodges," answered
Valentine. "If we'd waited long enough, I daresay he'd have told me
the names of all the family!"

CHAPTER VIII.

A BANQUET AT "DUSTER'S."

"It must have been the fault of the black goblin who lived in the
snuff-box."--_The Brave Tin Soldier_.

At Easter, Jack and Valentine got their remove into the Fifth, and
there became acquainted with a young gentleman who rejoiced in the name
of Tinkleby.

Tinkleby was a comical-looking fellow of medium height; he wore
nippers, and had a perpetual smirk on his lips.

"Hallo, you two Fenleighs!" he said, coming up to them on the second
morning of the term; "I suppose you'll join our society."

"What society?" asked Jack.

"The Fifth Form Literary Society."

"What's it for?" asked Valentine. "We're neither of us very literary."

"Well, to tell you the truth, the society isn't either. It's kept up
for the sake of having a feed at the end of every summer term."

"What?" cried Jack,