"Mocassin Song," said the haughty Stan. "Now no more of it!" "I didn't know I were whistlin' it," replied the youth. "He whistles it in his dreams, Alf does," explained a little pal. "It's got to his head." "He won't 'ave no 'ead to dream with if he mocassins us," retorted Stan. The wrong righted, and order restored, Stanley stalked majestically back to his pal with a wink. "Where's Albert then?" asked Jerry. "He said he wasn't comin'." "He's been sayin' that every Sunday these ten year past," answered Jerry with the insolence of the ancient habitue. "Ere, one o' you kids, fetch me a bit o' chalk. I 'ate to see you idlin' your time away, gamblin' and dicin', like the Profligate Son when he broke the bank at Monte Carlo." He mounted the platform. "While Ginger's gettin' the chalk I'll ask you a question or two to testify your general knowledge." He took the cigarette out of his mouth, and wriggled his chin above his high collar. "Who done Mr. Silver down?" he asked pontifically. There was a moment's silence. Then a hand went up. "Chukkers," piped the cherub-faced urchin. There was a jeer from the other lads, and even the proud Stanley deigned to smile. "Alf's got Chukkers on the crumpet," Jerry said sardonically. "If there was a nearthquake and they ask Alf who done it, he'd say Chukkers." "Well, he's up to all sorts," retorted the wise cherub. Jerry repeated his original question. "Who done Mr. Silver down?" "Jews," ventured a sporting youth. This answer met with more approval. "That's more like," said Jerry. "Now 'ow can he get back on 'em?" "Bash 'em," suggested the sportsman, encouraged by his previous success. "He's bigger nor them, I'll lay." The lecturer on the platform lifted a protesting hand. "You mustn't bash 'em, boy Jackson," he said. "Tain't accordin' to religion--at least not the religion what I'm here to teach you. No," said the preacher of righteousness, "you mustn't bash 'em. That'd never do." "What then?" piped the cherub. "You must lay for him," answered the moralist. Alf was on his feet in a trice. "At the Canal Turn," he chirped. "Bump him off and then jump on the flat of his face." The moralist greeted the suggestion with warm approval. "One up to Alfie!" he cried. "He'll make a jockey and a Christian yet, Alf will." Ginger handed up a piece of chalk. Jerry hushed his audience. "Quiet now, _if_ you please," said he. He took the chalk and wrote up in sprawling letters on the board: _Bible Class._ _First Question. What price Four-Pound-the-Second, Grand National?_ Instantly there was a hub-bub, from which the words "Hundred to one" came with insistent force. "Hundred to one," said the lecturer. "Thank you, genelmen." He proceeded to write. _Second Question. Any takers?_ "Yus," said the lofty Stanley. "I'll do it in dollars--twice over." "Thank _you_," said the scribe. _Third Question. What price Mocassin?_ The name was received with groans.