“Oh, Percy, have you heard the news?” inquired Hugh, eagerly, some
five weeks after his arrival at Tickletown; and as he spoke, he began
dancing and clinging round his brother in a state of the greatest
excitement.
“What news, Hugh?” returned Percy, who, seated at his desk, was writing
with the greatest assiduity.
“Oh, then you haven’t heard,” resumed Hugh. “Well, you know that a
company of actors are performing at the Tickletown Theatre, and that all
the boys are mad to go and see them; and no wonder, either, for, from
what Wilfred and others, who have seen one in London, say, a play must
be the most wonderful, glorious, jolliest, brickish-est thing going.”
Hugh was making surprising advances in slang, under his cousin Wilfred’s
able tuition; his progress in dear Dr. Valpy’s Latin Delectus was by no
means equally rapid.
“I know what you have told me; but I know, also, that the Doctor has
expressly forbidden any of the boys, even of the sixth form, to go to
the theatre, on pain of expulsion. His reason--and it seems to me a good
one--being, that he cannot exercise any surveillance (that means care,
or watchfulness) over them, if they are allowed to be out late at
night,” returned Percy, gravely.
“Yes; but you don’t know that the manager has written to the Doctor to
say that he will give a morning performance, and select only pieces of
which the Doctor shall approve, if he will allow the boys to go; and the
dear, good, jolly old Doctor has said ‘yes,’ and granted a half holiday
next Thursday for the purpose; and I’ll never call him old Donkey any
more, if Biggington kills me for refusing. But Percy, dear Percy, do you
think there is any chance that we could go?”
Now, although at first sight this question would appear a very simple
one, it was by no means so easy to answer as might be imagined. In the
first place, Percy had a vague and indistinct notion that his mother
disapproved of theatrical entertainments; certainly, as far as his own
personal feelings were concerned, the recent loss he had sustained, with
all its painful consequences, rendered him indisposed to enjoy any such
amusements.
Then, again, on the score of expense: their pocket-money was very
limited, Hugh being allowed sixpence, Percy a shilling a week,--a sum
which was barely sufficient to supply slate-pencils, ink,
peg-tops, clasp-knives, “toffy,” and all the other innumerable and
incomprehensible _sine quâ nons_ of a public school-boy’s existence.
Although he had suffered both obloquy and inconvenience on account of
the paucity of his funds, Percy had resolved that, during their first
quarter, nothing should induce him to apply to their mother for more;
and, when Percy had resolved upon a thing, because he considered it a
matter of principle, Hugh was aware that Gibraltar itself was not more
immovable.
It was, therefore, with rather a blank expression of countenance that he
replied to his brother’s inquiry of what it would cost,--
“The admission is to be half-a-crown each.”
“Then we cannot go,” returned Percy; “for I have not been able to save
any of my allowance, neither do I imagine have you.”
One reason why Percy found a difficulty in saving was, that Hugh was
for ever losing things which must be replaced, or breaking things which
required mending, or earnestly desirous of something or other which
Percy could not bear to see him wishing for in vain;--for be it known,
that unless some matter of deep feeling, or right principle,
were concerned, his elder brother spoiled Hugh as thoroughly and
unconsciously as anybody. Thus, in point of fact, Master Hugh spent, in
addition to his own sixpence, some ninepence out of every shilling of
Percy’s.
But Hugh’s selfishness was a fault of which he was himself perfectly
unaware. Not being of what minor treatises on Christian ethics consider
it the thing to term “an introspective habit of mind,” and knowing that
if Percy required such a sacrifice, he would willingly allow his right
hand--the hand with which he played marbles--to be cut off in his
service; he was so accustomed to consider that, because he was the
youngest, everything was to be given up to him, that he forgot the
injustice of such an arrangement.
“Not a halfpenny,” was Hugh’s reply; “that cake woman cleaned me out
yesterday! What a goose I am to be so fond of cakes! but I like to have
enough to give some to the other fellows too, and all we little chaps
have a weakness for cakes;--but have _you_ got no money?”
Percy shook his head. “Breaking windows, and losing other boys’ balls,
are expensive amusements, Hugh,” he said. “Remember, I have got you out
of several scrapes of that kind since we have been here. Of course, I
was glad enough to do so; but I only mention it to account for my being
nearly as poor as yourself. A shilling a week is soon exhausted.”
Hugh paused in deep perplexity; at last he said slowly, and in a
hesitating voice, “Mamma would send us the money, I think, if you would
not mind writing to tell her that you had no objection, and that I wish
to go so very, _very_ much.”
“But I should mind writing for such a purpose,” returned Percy; “and I
will explain to you why: since dear papa’s death, mamma has been very
poor, and she is likely to be poorer still, I am afraid, for she writes
me word that Sir Thomas Crawley still persists in his demand, and Mr.
Wakefield is afraid she will have to pay it whenever a new clergyman is
appointed.”
“How wicked! how cruel of Sir Thomas!” interrupted Hugh, vehemently;
“and he is as rich as an old Jew, too;--I hate him!”
“Gently, Hugh, you must not speak in that way; every man has a right to
obtain anything the law of the land will award him. But now I have told
you this, I am sure you would not wish me to write and ask mamma to send
us money to be spent in amusement, which she must deny herself and Emily
the actual necessaries of life in order to procure.” Percy waited for an
answer with some anxiety, but, in a matter of feeling, Hugh would never
have been likely to occasion him disappointment.
“Do not write, for the world, Percy,” he said; “I would rather never see
a play in my life than grieve dearest mamma. Oh, Percy! I wish I were a
man, then I’d work hard, and keep her and Emily, and give them pleasures
and luxuries, and make them quite happy; and as for that wicked Sir
Thomas, I’d punch his head for him, as Wilfred says.”
So saying, Hugh returned the caress his delighted brother bestowed on
him, and walked off manfully. But his courage only lasted till he had
made his way into an old hayloft over a large rambling stable, capable
of holding twenty horses, but now devoted to the use of the doctor’s fat
pony, and a cow and a calf, also the property of that dignitary. Having
reaches his hiding-place, his fortitude gave way, and he bewailed his
disappointment with a hearty cry; for he was but a child after all,
poor little fellow! and a spoiled one as well, and to such, however
differently far-advanced Christians may appreciate the quality,
self-denial appears a very harsh and uncomfortable virtue.
On the morning of the important day, a fresh trial awaited him; Wilfred
Jacob, who had thoroughly fulfilled his promise to Ernest Carrington,
by saving Hugh from ill-usage, and Percy from many of the annoyances to
which his proud, sensitive nature rendered him peculiarly susceptible,
as soon as breakfast was concluded, shouted vociferously for his fag--
“Hugh, Hugh Colville! where has the young warment hidden himself? Oh,
there you are; come here, you imp of darkness, I shall have to give you
that thrashing I’ve owed you so long, I know I shall, and when it does
come, old Bogie have mercy on your precious bones! for I shall have
none. Now, listen to me; the moment morning school is up, cut away like
a flash of greased lightning, and turn out my things to dress. Let me
see--I shall wear--hold up your head, sir, and look attentive!--I shall
wear--ahem!--my white d’Orsay overcoat; the light-blue coatee with fancy
silk buttons; the pink satin under-waistcoat; the green embroidered vest
with coral buttons; the blue necktie with crimson ends; the MacFerntosh
plaid trousers, those with the green ground and broad red, and blue, and
white checks over it; and the polished boots--do you twig? Now, then,
repeat it all, that I may be sure you’ve taken it in correct.”
“D’Orsay wrap; blue coatee; pink under, green and coral over-vests; blue
and crimson choker; MacFerntosh sit-upons; and japanned trotter-cases,”
returned Hugh, gabbling over the-different items with the velocity at
which tradition has decreed it proper to inform society that “Peter
Piper picked a peck of pepper.”
“Bravo, young’un, you improve apace; but you took to slang uncommon
kindly from the first, I will say that for you. Well, when you’ve looked
out the toggery, and--ahem! brought me my shaving water;--I’ve felt,
for some time past, a tickling sensation at the sides of my face, which,
I am sure, indicates the approach of whiskers. Ar--I should be rather
a good-looking fellow if I had but got whiskers, I flatter myself;
wouldn’t I wear ’em bushy, that’s all. As soon as you’ve done all I’ve
told you, jump into your own juvenile habiliments, and be ready to go
with me at a moment’s notice.”
“But--but you know, Wilfred, I’m not to go,” faltered poor Hugh.
“Not to go, why not? Who says so? What! has Percy cut up rough, with
his sanctified, Puritanical, Puseyitical, Pontifical, Hieroglyphical
notions; oh! leave him to me, I’ll soon talk him round;--I’ve the
highest possible veneration for morality and piety, and all that sort of
thing, particularly on Sundays; but to fancy they’ve got anything to
do with going to the play, is an association of ideas little short of
downright sacrilege, to my notion.”
“No, it is not that,” returned Hugh; “Percy would have let let me go,
only----”
“Only what?” inquired Wilfred, “come, make haste, I’ve got thirty lines
of Terence to knock off before I go up to Carrington.”
“Only we’ve both spent our allowance, and I’ve not got money to pay,”
replied poor Hugh, fairly driven into confessing his poverty.
“Phew!” whistled his patron, “no assets forthcoming, eh, that’s
unfortunate, all the more so, because just at the present epoch my
own financial arrangements are in a somewhat embarrassed
condition--ar--banker’s account over-drawn--owing to their confounded
free-trade, I expect, I can’t get my rents paid up,--in fact, to be
frank with you, when this play business was first started, I, with
incautious liberality, volunteered to make one of a jovial crew of
fifth-formers, who intend to follow up the theatrical entertainments
with a sort of extempore _déjeuné à la fourchette_ of oysters and
porter. Well, sir, when I came to examine into the state of my funds,
I, after much deep and intricate calculation, arrived at the following
result viz., that I had contracted liabilities to the amount of
one pound five, while to meet them I possessed the exact sum of two
shillings and threepence halfpenny--the halfpenny being scarcely an
efficient coin of the realm, by reason of my having that morning punched
a large hole in its centre, in pursuance of a mechanical experiment
which failed. Under these circumstances I immediately wrote to the
governor, saying that several unusually distressing cases of charity
having come under my notice since I had last received his blessing and
a ten-pound note, the blessing alone remained; adding that another case
more urgent than any of the former now appealing to my sympathies, I
trusted he would not object to replace the money without unnecessary
delay. They say it is a wise child that knows its own father; certainly
in this particular instance I seem to have formed a strangely mistaken
estimate of the manners and customs of mine, for yesterday morning I
received from him the following heartless reply:--
“‘Dear Wilfred Jacob,--As I happen to know your charity is of the kind
which begins and ends at home, and as two pounds a week is rather
more than I wish you to spend on lollipops, I strongly recommend
total abstinence from such delicacies for the next fortnight, at the
expiration of which period you may look for a five-pound note (the last
you will receive before the holidays), from,
“‘Your affectionate father.’”
“Well, my father being thus obdurate, the only alternative that remained
for me was to apply to my uncle, in consequence of which application, my
watch will have a little extra _ticking_ to do for the next fortnight;
‘my relation, on the security of that valuable, favouring me with the
loan of five and twenty shillings. Thus, the admission to the
theatre being two and sixpence, you will perceive, by a reference to
‘Bonnycastle’s Arithmetic,’ or ‘Smith’s Wealth of Nations,’ I am still
two-pence-halfpenny behind the world, which sum I must beg, borrow, or
otherwise realise before two o’clock to-day, at which time the doors
open. So, you see, young’un, I literally cannot treat you, for which,
without chaffing, I’m really uncommon sorry; but never mind, put your
trust in jollity, and depend upon it something to your advantage will
turn up some day and with this well-meant, but slightly vague attempt at
consolation,” Wilfred Jacob passed on to have, as he termed it, a “go in”
at Terence.
In the meantime, a solemn and important discussion was being held among
the boys of the sixth form (some of whom were lads of seventeen and
eighteen, and considered themselves young men), as to whether these
morning theatricals, being got up solely with a view to the juveniles,
were not _infra dig_. Biggington, who had grown up to fit his name, and
stood six feet one in his stockings, and who, moreover, in virtue of
the date of his entrance, as well as from his strength and prowess, was
looked upon as leader of the school, decidedly set his face against it,
and declared, with unnecessary vehemence of expression, that the
play might be--that to which its author would have especially
objected--before he would go to see it.
Stradwick quite agreed with him, which fact possessed every advantage
but that of novelty; Stradwick being a mere reflection, and by be means
a brilliant one, of Biggington.
Fowler also considered the thing would be infernally slow, nothing
sporting about it; besides, Jackass (alas for boy nature, that so could
paraphrase the respectable name of Doctor John Donkiestir!) was going
himself, and would have nothing to do but to watch them, so that if a
fellow happened to sneeze, he would be safe to get an imposition for
winking at an actress; for his part he’d rather be in school at once.
Norman and Piper followed on the same side; Swann, Pitt, Kitely, Martin,
and Jones, agreed with the foregoing, but had an original opinion of
their own, that old Donkey was growing superannuated.
On the other hand, Warmingham, Gaston, and some dozen others, although
considering that an exception ought to have been made in favour of the
sixth form, thought the measure a judicious one, as far as the little
fellows were concerned, and were, therefore, prepared to pocket their
dignity and go;---unless anybody had got anything better to propose.
“I tell you what, Gaston, that was not a bad notion of yours about an
exception being made in favour of the sixth; surely, if that were
properly placed before old Jack, he could never be so besotted as to
refuse,” observed Fowler.
“Bravo, Fowler,” exclaimed several voices; “let us draw up a formal
representation of the affair, and send up a deputation with it to Jack.”
“What do you say, Biggington?” inquired Fowles.
“Simply that I’ll have nothing to do with it; I’ll neither sign the
address, nor head the deputation,” was the sulky reply; “I consider
I have demeaned myself too much to Jack already, in submitting to his
absurd prejudices.”
“Biggington and I view the matter exactly in the same light,” observed
Stradwick: “you’d all better give up the notion directly.”
“Speak for yourself, stupid!” returned Biggington: “if Fowler and the
rest like to try, let them, and they’ll see what will come of it; my
own feelings are purely personal. Don’t you see, fool,” he continued,
drawing his satellite aside, “by the plan I adopt, they will do the
dirty work, and, if they succeed, I shall profit by it; if they fail, I
avoid the slight of having my request refused.”
“Then what shall I do?” inquired Stradwick, who possessed just intellect
enough to perceive that the rule of blindly following his leader would,
in this case, annoy rather than propitiate the autocrat.
“Why--a--you see, you are--that is, we are differently--a--in fact, in
your position I should decidedly sign the address; though--stop, wait a
minute--on second thoughts it strikes me it may look odd to have every
name but one on the list: Jack may think I’ve got some dodge in my head,
Well, never mind; if you like to follow my example you can,” returned
the slightly selfish Biggington.
Accordingly, Gaston, who was famous as a scribe, wrote the address; and
Fowler, and some half-dozen others, carried it up to the Doctor.
Dr. Donkiestir, who was a tall, fine-looking man, of about fifty, with
a clever, energetic countenance, marked, however, by the stern, worried
expression common to schoolmasters, received the deputation courteously,
read the address, and then observed--
“All the sixth appear to have signed this, except Biggington and
Stradwick: why are their names absent?”
There was a moment’s pause, and then Fowler, who was naturally of an
open, fearless disposition, replied--
“I believe, sir, Biggington preferred giving up going to the theatre,
to asking a favour which he considered it unlikely you would grant; and
Stradwick generally does whatever Biggington does.”
As Fowler announced this well-known fact, a general smile, which even
the Doctor’s presence could not entirely restrain, went the round of the
deputation.
The Doctor seemed not to notice it, though a twinkle in the corner of
his eye revealed to those who knew his every look, that he was not so
unobservant as he appeared.
“Biggington and his friend are very prudent,” he said, with a slight
ironical emphasis on the last word. He then paused a moment in thought
ere he continued, “I am very sorry that I consider it my duty to refuse
your request, for the straightforward, gentlemanly way in which you have
preferred it has much pleased me; but I cannot believe that I should be
fulfilling the trust reposed in me by your parents, if I were to allow
you to be exposed to the temptations of a theatre, in a town, at night,
when it would be impossible for me to exercise the slightest vigilance
over you; and this applies more strongly to the sixth form than to the
younger boys, as many of you are almost young men, and peculiarly liable
to the evil influences to which I allude. As some compensation I will
grant a whole holiday, either for skating, if the weather permits, or
boating, or cricketing, later in the season, whichever you may prefer. I
hope, as a proof that you do not think I have been unnecessarily strict,
the sixth will think better of it, and that I shall see many of their
faces at the theatre this morning.”
The Doctor’s harangue was not without its effect, for Fowler
(who, though somewhat of a pickle, was of a warm-hearted, generous
disposition) thanked the head master for the promised holiday, and
declared his intention of going to the morning performance. Gaston,
Warmingharn, and the rest of that party, followed his lead, and the
deputation withdrew.
“So you’ve eaten humble pie for nothing, been humbugged into promising
to go to a childish affair you ought to be ashamed to be seen at, and
been choused out of the only bit of fun and jollity that has come in our
way this half. I wish you joy of your promised holiday, you good little
boys,” was Biggington’s sarcastic speech, when he learned the result of
their mission.
“Chaff away, Big-un” (a familiar abbreviation of Biggington’s
patronymic, of which only the _elite_ of the sixth were permitted to
make use), returned Fowler, good-humouredly. “Jacky’s a stunning good
old fellow, after all, and I, for one, shall go, to show him I don’t
bear malice; you’d better pocket your dignity for once, Big-un, and come
too!”
“Not if I know it, to please either old fools or young ones,” was the
unamiable reply; and, turning on his heel, Biggington walked angrily
away, followed, at no great distance, by Stradwick and two or three
other recusants.
In spite, however, of their disapproval, the morning performance went
off with great _éclat_; and those who attended it, amongst whom were a
large proportion of the sixth form boys, raved about their delight to
such a degree, that even Bigging-ton, albeit he pretended to take the
matter with a high hand, felt intensely provoked, and thrashed
most unmercifully a small boy, who, in the innocence of his heart,
incautiously promulgated his opinion, within the tyrant’s hearing, that
“any one who could have gone and did not, must be a precious slow coach,
and no mistake.”
As for the fictions founded on facts, upon which the prolific
imagination of Wilfred Jacob delighted to expatiate, they had such an
effect upon poor Hugh, that he fairly cried himself to sleep that night,
from sheer vexation and disappointment.
The next morning, a flashily dressed, sharp-looking young man, who
was none other than the usher introduced by Wilfred Jacob into his
description of the Tickletown masters by the nickname of Pentameter, but
whose proper appellation was Sprattly, and who was, as Wilfred had truly
stated, anything but a gentleman, approached a group, consisting of
Biggington, Stradwick, and one or two others, with whom he appeared on
the most intimate and confidential terms.
“I say, old fellows,” he began, “is it actually true that the Doctor
won’t let you go to the theatre at night?”
“Yes, worse luck,” was the reply.
“And are you going to stand it quietly?” continued Sprattly.
“Eh? why what can we do to help ourselves? If the whole of the sixth
had stuck together, we might have made something of it; but that ass,
Fowler, was talked over. He says Jack appealed to his feelings, or
sympathies, or some such disgusting rubbish. So Fowler went, and took
half the form with him; and altogether, if I was to express my true
opinion, I think the whole affair is about as absurd, not to say
disgraceful, to all parties as it well can be.”
Norman, the speaker, was a tall, slender stripling about seventeen, with
well-cut features and beautiful glossy hair of a raven blackness, which
he wore long, and evidently bestowed much care upon; but his cold, grey
eyes, and the immovable expression of his mouth, gave a clue to his true
character--viz., a clear, vigorous intellect, but a total deficiency of
that which is commonly called heart. He was very anxious to leave the
school, as a rich relation, who had taken a fancy to him, and intended
to make him his heir, had purchased for him a commission in a cavalry
regiment, on the strength of which he affected a _pococurante_ air;
and possessing great natural powers of sarcasm, made himself feared and
looked up to by the other boys. Outwardly he and Biggington were the
greatest allies possible, but beneath the surface lay hidden a mine of
envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, which only required the
application of a match to cause an explosion, the effects of which could
scarcely be foreseen.
“It’s an awful bore, really,” replied Sprattly, “for my cousin Courtenay
Trevanion----”
“Which, being interpreted, means Jack Sprattly,” interrupted Norman,
sarcastically.
“No! come, really Norman, ’pon my life you’re too bad. I told you
of his being my relation quite in confidence. All theatricals have a
professional name, and a fellow may as well choose a spicy one as not,
while he is about it,” continued Sprattly; “but I was going to tell
you about to-night. They are going to do the ‘Beggars’ Opera,’ Juliet
Elphinstone----”
“_Alias_ Betsey Slasher,” put in the incorrigible Norman.
“Plays Polly Peachum,” continued Sprattly, not heeding the interruption;
“Coralie, the French girl, does Lucy Lockit; and Courtenay--or Jack, if
you will have it so,” he added quickly, perceiving that Norman was again
about to speak--“Jack himself is cast for Macheath; stunningly he’ll
play it too, for I heard him last winter--can’t he just tip ’em, ‘How
happy could I be with either’ in style!--Uncommon well he looks, too, in
the highwaymen’s dress--red frock-coat, with gold frogs, and high shiny
leather boots; but Jack’s a regular spicy-looking fellow.”
“Little too much of the lamps and sawdust about him,” returned Norman,
superciliously.
He paused a moment, then turning to Biggington, he said abruptly, fixing
his piercing glance upon him as he spoke--
“Big., we must go to this affair.”
Thus appealed to, the cock of the school, who at heart was more dunghill
than game, like most other bullies, turned rather pale as he replied in
a low voice--
“How is it to be done?”
“I have ideas on the subject,” returned Norman, confidently; “but we need
not trouble other folks with our private affairs. I don’t exactly agree
with Solomon about the advisability of a multitude of counsellors.”
“If you’re good for a spree I’ll stick to you to the backbone!”
exclaimed Terry, a boy nearly sixteen, who lived only for mischief, and
worshipped Norman, as Stradwick did Biggington, only with enthusiasm,
instead of servility.
Stradwick, the remaining member of the party, was beginning slowly and
gravely, “I shall do whatever Big------” when a shout of laughter from
Norman, Sprattly, and Terry, cut him short. As soon as Sprattly had
sufficiently recovered from the effects of his hilarity to be able to
speak, he observed--
“Well, if you naughty boys are determined to plot mischief, of course I
must not hear it: only, if we _should_ meet by any accident behind the
scenes of the theatre, I shall have much pleasure in introducing you to
Polly Peachum and the fascinating Coralie;--by-the-bye, let me give you
a hint! that stuck-up parson, young Carrington, is a precious sight more
wide awake than the Don, so keep out of his way as much as you can.” And
having thus spoken, Pentameter Sprattly carried off his five feet four
of vulgar humanity, with the most conceited air possible of underbred
pretensions.
“What a thorough snob that unfortunate little Pen. has improved into!”
observed Norman, as soon as the amiable usher was out of earshot.
“He never was anything else since I’ve known the animal,” returned
Biggington, surlily; “that’s him all the world over: he’ll give a fellow
information which he knows will set him raving to do a thing, and then
come out with his humbugging, ‘Well, you _would_ do it; I _told_ you
you’d get into a scrape.’ I wonder what his object now is?”
“Oh! merely to help his cousin, or, more likely brother. Jack,” was the
reply; “they’re as much alike as two men can be, only one spratt left
off growing a couple of years too soon: if Jack draws a good house his
salary will be raised. And now I’ll explain to you my plan, as far as it
is at present matured,” and so saying, Norman unfolded to them a scheme--
with the details whereof we need not trouble the reader--which, from his
intimate acquaintance with the manners and customs of both masters and
boys, he had been enabled to adapt to circumstances so cleverly, that
even the cautious Biggington confessed he could only discover one flaw
in it.
“And that is,” he continued, “supposing everything to have gone smoothly
up to the moment of our return, pray how are we to get in, when every
door and window will be carefully closed and barred, and the Doctor’s
six-barrelled revolver, which he is so proud of, awaiting us if we make
noise sufficient to rouse him?”
“I’ve ideas on that point, too,” returned Norman, meditatively; “I’m
certain I remember a window in that old loft over the stable, by which
I used, when a little shaver, to get in and out through the school-room
skylight: I must contrive to make some excuse for inspecting the
premises.”
“I’ll tell you who knows more about the loft than all the rest of us put
together,” exclaimed Terry; “and that is little Colville: he has a pet
cat which resides in those parts, and he is constantly climbing and
scrambling about up there, and has the place pretty much to himself,
I suspect; for most of the juveniles have faith in a ghost, which Hugh
Colville seems too plucky to care for.”
“That was exactly my case some ten years ago,” returned Norman: “find
little Colville and send him here to me, and let us meet again in
Biggington’s room after morning school, when I will report progress,
and the affair shall be finally arranged. Now be off with you different
ways: we must not be seen talking together too long.”
And so with breasts more or less burdened by a consciousness of their
evil secret, the conspirators parted.