respects Mrs. Postwhistle proved an admirable companion. She
asked no questions, and only spoke when spoken to, which, during that
walk, was not often. At the end of half an hour, Miss Bulstrode pleaded
a headache and thought she would return home and go to bed. Mrs.
Postwhistle thought it a reasonable idea.

"Well, it's better than tramping the streets," muttered Johnny, as the
bedroom door was closed behind him, "and that's all one can say for it.
Must get hold of a smoke to-morrow, if I have to rob the till. What's
that?" Johnny stole across on, tiptoe. "Confound it!" said Johnny, "if
she hasn't locked the door!"

Johnny sat down upon the bed and took stock of his position. "It doesn't
seem to me," thought Johnny, "that I'm ever going to get out of this
mess." Johnny, still muttering, unfastened his stays. "Thank God,
that's off!" ejaculated Johnny piously, as he watched his form slowly
expanding. "Suppose I'll be used to them before I've finished with
them."

Johnny had a night of dreams.

For the whole of next day, which was Friday, Johnny remained "Miss
Bulstrode," hoping against hope to find an opportunity to escape from his
predicament without confession. The entire Autolycus Club appeared to
have fallen in love with him.

"Thought I was a bit of a fool myself," mused Johnny, "where a petticoat
was concerned. Don't believe these blithering idiots have ever seen a
girl before."

They came in ones, they came in little parties, and tendered him
devotion. Even Mrs. Postwhistle, accustomed to regard human phenomena
without comment, remarked upon it.

"When you are all tired of it," said Mrs. Postwhistle to Jack Herring,
"let me know."

"The moment we find her brother," explained Jack Herring, "of course we
shall take her to him."

"Nothing like looking in the right place for a thing when you've finished
looking in the others," observed Mrs. Postwhistle.

"What do you mean?" demanded Jack.

"Just what I say," answered Mrs. Postwhistle.

Jack Herring looked at Mrs. Postwhistle. But Mrs. Postwhistle's face was
not of the expressive order.

"Post office still going strong?" asked Jack Herring.

"The post office 'as been a great 'elp to me," admitted Mrs. Postwhistle;
"and I'm not forgetting that I owe it to you."

"Don't mention it," murmured Jack Herring.

They brought her presents--nothing very expensive, more as tokens of
regard: dainty packets of sweets, nosegays of simple flowers,