Ifell asleep at last, and, on opening my eyes the next morning, saw the sunlight shining into the squalid room. Evidently it had been empty on my arrival at the house, and Mrs. Loveridge had flung these things on the floor, and placed a basin and what looked like a duster on a broken-backed chair, and considered the room furnished. Not aware of the time, but believing it to be quite early, I got up and said my prayers and began my toilet, with the intention of going downstairs to explore the house. Having lain down in my clothes, I now washed as well as I could without soap, opened my door, went out to the landing, and listened. All that I could hear was snoring; so, taking courage, I tried to walk downstairs without noise—a task in which I only partially succeeded.

Passing the first floor, I went on to the rooms which I had entered yesterday, and then to the front door. I saw that it was locked, and that the key, as Mrs. Loveridge had hinted, had been taken away. At the back of the passage was a flight of stairs, and, in the wild hope of finding some kind of back door, I went down.

In this basement were two rooms, that in front being an ordinary kind of kitchen—the door of the back room being locked. I was in the act of stooping to look through the keyhole, when I felt a hand on my collar.

'Now, get away from that,' cried Mrs. Loveridge, flinging me heavily against the wall. 'None of your prying down here, or it'll be the worse for you.'

I returned upstairs without speaking, and there I hung about the room, where the supper things still remained on the table, until I smelt an odour of frying bacon. Both the men came to breakfast, and nobody spoke during the meal. When it ended, Mr. Loveridge left the room, and I heard him downstairs, opening and shutting the door of the room where I had been caught trying to peep. I strained my ears for any fresh sound, fancying that some one must be blowing a pair of bellows, such as may be seen in any blacksmith's shop, until my attention was suddenly diverted.

'I never expect gratitude,' said Mr. Parsons, 'so I am not disappointed if I don't get it. There are private goings on in every house, come to that, and visitors have got to behave themselves.'

'Of course,' I answered, remembering the caution I had administered to myself last night.

'People tell me I am what you may call a good-natured man,' he continued. I noticed how thin his lips had become, and what an unpleasant expression had come into his eyes. 'But if you rouse me,' he exclaimed, 'I'm a Tartar—a Tartar I am! So you had better be careful.'

I was rapidly growing convinced that there was a mystery connected with the house, and that the clue was to be found downstairs in what ought to have been the back kitchen. But I had no time to think of this at present, because Mr. Parsons said he intended to take me out. He accompanied me into the passage, where he carefully brushed his tall hat with his sleeve, and opened the street door, whilst I determined to lose no opportunity of making my escape before we returned. The next minute we were walking away from the house, and, to my surprise, Mr. Parsons put his hand through my arm, holding it with what seemed to be a grip of iron.

'Where are we going?' I asked, as we left the street.

'I want to make a deal with a friend of mine,' was the answer. 'Appearances are very important in this world, my lad. I like to see a boy nicely dressed. I'm always very particular myself what I wear.'

'My clothes are all right,' I muttered.

'Ah, you think so, do you? Now, I'm very fond of a short black jacket and a tall hat—a tall hat is most important.'

'You mean Etons?' I suggested.

'You will see what I mean before you're much older,' he answered, still keeping his grip of my arm.

In a wider street in the neighbourhood of Edgware Road we stopped before a good-sized second-hand clothes-shop, which was kept by a man, who appeared to be a friend of Parsons. Telling me to enter first, he stood blocking the doorway while he carried on a whispered conversation with the shopkeeper.

'Take off your jacket,' he said, a few minutes later, as the shopman began to show some folded suits of clothes.

Although I did not in the least like the notion of exchanging my own clothes, shabby as they were, for a suit which had already been worn by somebody else, it was a part of my plan to offer no unnecessary objection. Besides, it must be confessed that, in his quiet way, Mr. Parsons had succeeded in filling me with something very like terror. In a manner, he seemed like a volcano, looking perfectly harmless, and even pleasant, but yet capable of a terribly dangerous eruption.

The shopman brought out an armful of clothes, and the second jacket I tried was only a trifle too small. In less than a quarter of an hour I had taken off my own suit and put on in its place an ordinary suit of Etons, such as we all wore on Sundays at Castlemore. Although obviously far from new, it was not in very bad condition; but the hat, which had a soiled lining, required to be filled in with paper to prevent it from coming down over my eyes. Mr. Parsons sold my old suit (it could scarcely have fetched a very high price), and paid the difference to the shopman, who, I observed, examined the money, coin by coin, with close attention.

'Now,' said Parsons, as we walked in the direction of Edgware Road, 'you look a little more genteel.'

We entered a cheap hosier's shop next, and there he bought me a white shirt, two wide Eton collars, and a dark tie, all of which I carried home in a brown-paper parcel.

So far the morning had been passed harmlessly, if unpleasantly, for I continued to resent the second-hand suit, and especially the hat, and now we walked direct back to the house. After a meal, of which the less said the better, Mr. Parsons took me into his own bedroom, telling me to change my shirt and look sharp about it. When I had put on the white shirt, a wide collar, and the new necktie, I returned to the front room, but was sent into the passage to fetch the tall hat.

In the front room I found Mr. and Mrs. Loveridge, as well as a rough-looking man whom I had not seen before. Mr. Parsons placed his hand on my shoulders, and turned me round and round as if he were proud to show the change he had affected in my appearance.

'Won't he do beautiful?' he cried, excitedly. 'Did ever you set eyes on a nicer, genteeler-looking lad? Don't he take the cake?'

They all began to laugh, evidently with approval, while I bit my lips and tried to look as if I also liked it, although I think it was one of the worst minutes of my life.

'Well,' said Loveridge, 'we shall see what we get for our money.'

Mrs. Loveridge muttered something which I could not understand, and Mr. Parsons shook his head with a significant frown.

'Trust me for that,' he answered. 'Come along, Jacky! Handsome is that handsome does, you know.'

A few minutes later we were again out in the street, and while any casual passer-by would have imagined that I was accompanied by an affectionate old gentleman who held my arm, I knew very well what was his real motive. It was a hot afternoon, and presently we took an omnibus to Oxford Circus, where we at once turned down a side street.

'I dare say you are thirsty, my lad,' he exclaimed, suddenly. 'Now, two or three doors from here there's a nice shop where they sell delicious ginger-beer—a penny the bottle. Go and get yourself a bottle, Jacky.'

'I—I don't want any,' I answered, as he took a coin from his pocket.

'Jacky,' he said, looking full into my face, 'you will find it always best to do as you're told. Go and get yourself a bottle of ginger-beer, my lad.'

CHAPTER XVIII.

Taking the two-shilling-piece, I walked on and entered the small shop, where a clean-looking woman stood behind the counter. Opening a bottle of ginger-beer, she poured the contents into a glass, counting out the change for the florin while I drank. In the meantime Mr. Parsons was waiting directly outside the door, and the moment I reached his side he again gripped my arm.

'Change!' he muttered, whereupon I put the one and elevenpence into his shaky hand.

When we had walked a little farther, he stopped at another shop—a tobacconist's this time.

'Just go in there and buy me a box of wax lights,' he said, giving me half-a-crown.

Accordingly I entered the shop, where a young man was smoking a cigarette just within the door.

'A box of wax lights,' I cried, placing the money on the counter. Having given what I asked for, the man began to examine the coin. He rang it on the counter, he tried it with his teeth, and then he looked curiously into my face.

'Haven't you got any smaller change?' he asked.

'No,' I answered, and, with another curious glance, he examined the half-crown again, and finally gave me the change.

(Continued on page 158.)