ancy we three will be asked up
there again in a hurry."

They came to the schoolhouse gate, and Fairbairn said good-night.
Riddell and Bloomfield walked on together towards Parrett's.

"Oh, Bloomfield!" said the captain, nervously, "I just wanted to tell
you that I believe I have been all wrong in my guess about the boat-race
affair. The boy I suspected, I now fancy, had nothing to do with it."

"You are still determined to keep it all to yourself, then?" asked
Bloomfield, somewhat coldly.

"Of course," replied the captain.

At this point they reached Parrett's. Neither boy had any inclination
to pursue the unpleasant topic--all the more unpleasant because it was
the one bar to a friendship which both desired.

"Good-night," said Bloomfield, stiffly.

"Good-night," replied the captain.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

NEW LIGHTS ON OLD QUESTIONS.

Fairbairn was startled next morning while engaged over his toilet by a
sudden visit from the captain.

What could be wrong to bring him there at this hour, with a face full of
anxiety and a voice full of concern, as he inquired, "Will you do me a
favour, old man?"

Fairbairn knew his friend had been in trouble for some time past, and
was sore beset on many hands. He had not attempted to intrude into his
secrets or to volunteer any aid. For he knew Riddell would ask him if
he wanted it. In proof of which here he was.

"Of course, I will," replied he, "if I can."

"Do you happen to have a pot of jam you could lend me?"

Fairbairn fairly staggered at this unexpected request. He had imagined
he was to be asked at the very least to accompany his friend on some
matter of moment to the doctor's study, or to share some tremendous
secret affecting the honour of Willoughby. And to be asked now for the
loan of a pot of jam was too great a shock for his gravity, and he burst
out laughing.

"A pot of jam!" he exclaimed. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, any sort you've got," said the captain, eagerly; "and I suppose you
haven't got a pie of any sort, or some muffins?"

Fairbairn gaped at his visitor with something like apprehension as he
came out with this extraordinary request. The captain's voice was
grave, and _no_ suspicion of a jest lurked in his face. Could he
possibly have succumbed to the mental strain of the past term, and taken
leave of his wits?

"What _are_ you talking about, Riddell?" asked Fairbairn, in tones
almost of pity. "Has anything happened to you?