“Obstinate. That’s what I call it,” said Uncle Percy. “Damned obstinate.” He went out that morning alone. He thought that he would buy something for the kid, something really rich and impressive. It could not be that the boy disliked him, and yet . . . All that morning he was haunted by the boy’s presence. Going to school to-morrow, was he? Not much time left for making an impression. He could not find anything that morning that would precisely do. Rotten shops, the Polchester ones. He would tip the boy handsomely to-morrow morning. No boy could resist that. Really handsomely—as he had never been tipped before. Nothing further occurred to him, and that evening he was especially funny about his brother. That story of Herbert when he was round fifteen and quite a grown boy being afraid of a dog chained up in a yard, and how he, Percy, made Herbert go and stroke it. How Herbert trembled and how his knees shook! Oh! it was funny, it was indeed. You’d have roared had you seen it. Percy roared; roared until the table shook beneath him. But to-night, for some reason or another, Herbert did not seem to mind. He laughed gently and admitted that he was still afraid of dogs—bulldogs especially. Uncle Percy had Jeremy in his mind all that evening; he caught him once again by the slack of his breeches and swung him in the air—just to show what a jolly pleasant uncle he was. When Mrs. Cole explained that always on Jeremy’s last evening she read to him in the schoolroom after supper, he said that he would come too, and sat there in an easy chair, watching benevolently the children grouped in the firelight round their mother, while “The Chaplet of Pearls” unfolded its dramatic course. A charming picture! And the boy really looked delightful, gazing into the fire, his head against his mother’s knee. Uncle Percy almost wished that he himself had married. Nice to have children, a home, somewhere to come to; and so fell asleep, and soon was snoring so loudly that Mrs. Cole had to raise her voice. Next morning there was all the bustle of Jeremy’s departure. This was not so dramatic as other departures had been, because Jeremy was now so thoroughly accustomed to school-going and, indeed, could not altogether conceal from the world at large that this was football-time, the time of his delight and pride and happiness. He went as usual into his father’s study to say good-bye, but on this occasion, for some strange reason, there was no stiffness nor awkwardness. Both were at their ease as they had never been together before. Mr. Cole put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Mind you get into the football team,” he said. “If I don’t you won’t mind, father, will you?” said Jeremy, looking very fine indeed in a new light-grey overcoat. “I know you’ll do your best, my boy,” said Mr. Cole, and kissed him. Outside in the hall, with the others, was Uncle Percy. He motioned to him mysteriously. “I say, kid, come here.”