if he can't
pay he'll get shown up."

There was a whistle of dismay at this. Sweeten's fate was still fresh
in the memory of some of the faggery.

"We'll have to give him a leg-up," was the general verdict.

"Oh, don't let out I told you!" said I, beginning to get alarmed at the
interest my revelation had evoked.

"Who's going to say a word about you? We can back up the cock of our
own house, I suppose, without asking your precious leave. You go and
black Crofter's boots. We'll see old Tempest through."

This was not at all what I wanted. I had at least hoped to be
recognised as Tempest's leading champion in this company. Whereas, here
was I coolly shunted, my revelation coolly appropriated, and my services
unceremoniously dispensed with. I did not like it at all.

"This dodge about stringing up Jarman's guy," said Trimble, "ought to
help our man a bit. It'll show we're taking the matter up. By the way,
Sarah's not heard the latest--we're going to blow him up as well as hang
him."

And they proceeded to explain that the guy was to be filled chock-full
of fireworks and gunpowder, and his tongue to be made of touch-paper.
Altogether, he was to be a most dangerous and explosive effigy; and I,
as president of the Philosophical Conversation Club, was naturally
selected to take charge of him.

I pleaded hard for a sub-committee to assist me, but they would not hear
of it.

"It'll only be a day or two," said they, "to the Fifth of November.
We'll have his stuffing all in to-morrow--there's almost enough
fireworks left over from the picnic to load him. Then you can stow him
away quiet somewhere till the day. Couldn't you stick him under your
bed?"

"Oh no, he might go off, you know," said I; "or some one might see him.
Besides, he'll be too stout to go under."

"Bother!--where can he go, then?"

"I vote we stick him in the lumber room under the gymnasium. Nobody
ever goes there, and you can get into it any time by the area outside,"
said Coxhead.

This was voted an excellent idea. At any rate, if he was discovered or
did go off there, the gymnasium was far enough away from Sharpe's.

So, with much rejoicing, the guy was duly loaded with his explosive
internals, and clad in an old derelict overcoat of some late senior. My
famous hat adorned his hideous head, and my unappreciated tan boots lent
distinction to his somewhat incoherent legs. A train of touch-paper
connected with a Roman candle was c