"I do not approve of young lads having unlimited pocket-money or fashionable clothes, much less so in the case of a lad who must make his own way in the world, as George will have to do." "That's what Snipe said," was Shorty's quick reply. "Most of the class have both, however; and as he had neither and I only a little, we couldn't keep up with the crowd, so we spent our time together." "I am amazed that your grandparents should approve of such pernicious association for so young a lad as you," says Park, shifting the point of attack, for he feels that a revelation is imminent, and doesn't care to have the rector know how little he gave and how much he demanded. But it is bad fencing, for Shorty "disengages" with equal skill and follows with a palpable hit. Ignoring Park's comment, he faces the Doctor again. "You know, sir, that there isn't another boy in the class has to get his boots and gloves and pay his way on fifty cents a week." And Pop, inwardly convulsed, feels compelled to reprove. "Tut, tut!" he says. "These are matters for parents and guardians to settle. Little boys must hold their tongues." And when Pop means to be especially crushing he "little boys" the First Latin. "Any proper and necessary expense incurred by George would have been promptly allowed," says Park, loftily, "had he seen fit to confide in me or in his mother." "He _couldn't_ tell his mother, even when he was nearly barefoot," blurts out Shorty. "She wrote him last year she'd rather sell her watch than ask you for money for him!" And now Park, too, reddens, for he realizes that the statement is probably true. Hastily he returns to the charge. This boy knows and talks too much. It isn't safe to allow him the floor. Pop turns away, with evidences of earthquake-like disturbances underneath that silken waistcoat. "Then this is the excuse," says Park, severely, "for his resorting to pawnbrokers--with stolen property." And Shorty bursts out indignantly, "He never stole a thing, or sold it either!" And now his eyes look pleadingly to the Doctor as though to say, "You know this can't be so! Why do you let him lie?" And as though to answer the appeal and come to the rescue of a maligned and beloved pupil, Pop turns instantly, every sign of merriment gone. "Surely you are misinformed, Park," he says. "There was nothing but some last year's books and his father's old shotgun. He told us everything."