Mr. Price stiffened in his chair.

"Acting--under--his--advice," said Mr. Spriggs, sipping his tea, "I
wrote to Scotland Yard and told 'em that Augustus Price, ticket-of-leave
man, was trying to obtain a hundred and ten pounds by false pretences."

Mr. Price, white and breathless, rose and confronted him.

"The beauty o' that is, as Bill says," continued Mr. Spriggs, with much
enjoyment, "that Gussie'll 'ave to set out on his travels again. He'll
have to go into hiding, because if they catch him he'll 'ave _to_ finish
his time. And Bill says if he writes letters to any of us it'll only
make it easier to find him. You'd better take the first train to
Australia, Gussie."

"What--what time did you post--the letter?" inquired Uncle Gussie,
jerkily.

"'Bout two o'clock," said Mr. Spriggs, glaring aft the clock. "I reckon
you've just got time."

Mr. Price stepped swiftly to the small sideboard, and, taking up his
hat, clapped it on. He paused a moment at the door to glance up and down
the street, and then the door closed softly behind him. Mrs. Spriggs
looked at her husband.

"Called away to Australia by special telegram," said the latter,
winking. "Bill White is a trump; that's what he is."

"Oh, George!" said his wife. "Did you really write that letter?"

Mr. Spriggs winked again.

THE TEST

[Illustration: The Test 136]

PEBBLESEA was dull, and Mr. Frederick Dix, mate of the ketch _Starfish_,
after a long and unsuccessful quest for amusement, returned to the
harbor with an idea of forgetting his disappointment in sleep. The few
shops in the High Street were closed, and the only entertainment offered
at the taverns was contained in glass and pewter. The attitude of the
landlord of the "Pilots' Hope," where Mr. Dix had sought to enliven the
proceedings by a song and dance, still rankled in his memory.

The skipper and the hands were still ashore and the ketch looked so
lonely that the mate, thinking better of his idea of retiring, thrust
his hands deep in his pockets and sauntered round the harbor. It was
nearly dark, and the only other man visible stood at the edge of the
quay gazing at the water. He stood for so long that the mate's easily
aroused curiosity awoke, and, after twice passing, he edged up to him
and ventured a remark on the fineness of the night.

"The night's all right," said the young man, gloomily.

"You're rather near the edge," said the mate, after a pause.

"I like being near th