r-party, when the sight of two boys
and the sound of their voices startled Mm in the street, and their
sudden disappearance made him sure that they were Roslyn boys,
particularly when they began to run. He strongly suspected that he
recognised Wildney as one of them, and therefore made straight for his
dormitory, which he entered, just as that worthy had thrust the
beer-stained trousers under his bed. Mr. Rose, walked up quietly to his
bedside, and observed that he was not asleep, and that he still had half
has clothes on. He was going away when he saw a little bit of the
trousers protruding under the mattress, and giving a pull, out they
came, wringing wet with the streams of beer. He could not tell at first
what this imported, but a fragment of the bottle fell out of the pocket
with, a crash on the floor, and he then discovered. Taking no notice of
Wildney's pretended sleep, he said, quietly, "Come to me before
breakfast tomorrow, Wildney," and went down stairs.

Eric came in soon after, and found the little fellow vainly attempting
to appear indifferent, as he related to his admiring auditors the
night's adventure; being evidently rather prouder of the "Erie and I,"
which he introduced every now and then into his story.

"Has he twigged you?"

"Yes."

"And me?"

"I don't know; we shall see to-morrow."

"I hope not," said Eric; "I'm sorry for you, Charlie."

"Can't be cured, must be endured," said Wildney.

"Well, good night! and don't lose heart."

Eric went back to Duncan in the study, and they finished the other
bottle of beer between them, though without much enjoyment, because they
were full of surmises as to the extent of the discovery, and the nature
of the punishment.

Eric went in to tell Montagu of their escapade.

He listened very coldly, and said, "Well, Eric, it would serve you right
to be caught. What business have you to be going out at night, at the
invitation of contemptible small fry, like this little Wildney?"

"I beg you won't speak of any friend of mine in those terms," said Eric,
drawing up haughtily.

"I hope you don't call a bad little boy like Wildney, who'd be no
credit to any one, _your_ friend, Eric?"

"Yes I do, though. He's one of the pluckiest, finest, most promising
fellows in the lower school."

"How I begin to hate that word plucky," said Montagu; "it's made the
excuse here for everything that's wrong, base, and unmanly. It seems to
me it's infinitely more 'plucky'