he felt as if he ought to be kicked.

But when he went up to his room he found Saurin there, and any feelings of self-reproach he had had soon melted away.

“What’s up, now?” asked his friend. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.”

“I nearly got into an awful row, I can tell you!” replied Edwards. “My tutor smelt my jacket of smoke while he was correcting my theme.”

“By Jove! And how did you get out of it?”

“I told him I had worn the jacket in my father’s smoking-room.”

“Ha, ha, ha! that was a good un. Well done, old fellow! I did not think you had so much presence of mind. You will make your way yet.”

Edwards was on the point of protesting that what he said was the fact, but his guide, philosopher, and friend seemed so much pleased with the ingenuity of his plea that he could not bear to rob himself of the credit of it, and so he looked as knowing as he conveniently could, and chuckled, taking a pride in what five minutes before he was ashamed of.

“That’s the worst of cigar-smoking, the smell clings so to the clothes and hair. Now, a pipe is much easier to get sweet again after, unless, of course, you carry it about in your pocket. Wore the jacket in your father’s smoking-room about a month ago! and old Cookson was soft enough to swallow that. How old Slam would chuckle! I must tell him.”

“Do you know, I am not quite certain that my tutor did altogether believe that I had not been smoking,” said Edwards, his conscience stirring again a little bit now that he saw the man who had spoken so kindly to him incurring the terrible risk of forfeiting Saurin’s esteem through a false imputation of too great credulity. “You see, he’s a good-natured chap, and I think he wanted to believe if he could, and as my hair and breath did not smell, he gave me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thought it would bring discredit on his house if it were known to contain a monster who smoked tobacco,” said Saurin, “and so was glad to pretend to believe the papa-smoking-room story. Well, it is possible; old Cookson may not be so great a fool as he looks. Anyhow, I am glad for your sake that he did not report you; old Jolliffe would not have been humbugged. He would have said, ‘Your jacket stinks of tobacco, and jackets don’t smoke of themselves.’ And you would have got it hot, old fellow, for Jolliffe is mad against smoking.”