“You see,” explained Stokesley eagerly, warmed up now by the narration of his idea, “we’re sick of this place. It’s so dull. You must feel that yourself, Stocky, even with your beastly football. Nothing ever happens, and it’s ages before we go to Rugby. You’d much better come too. Of course, you’re a bit young, but they’ll probably want a cabin-boy on the ship; and then we’ll be in the South Seas, where you bathe all the time, and can shy at cokernuts, and there are heaps and heaps of monkeys, and you shoot tigers, and——” He paused for breath. A cabin-boy! Had it not been one of his earliest dreams? His mind flew back to that day, now so long ago, when he had begged the sea captain to take him. The sea captain! His heart beat thickly. Then came the practical side of him. “But won’t you want an awful lot of money?” he asked. “Oh, we’ve thought of that, of course,” said Stokesley. “My father gave me five pounds to come back with, and Pug’s uncle gave him two and his aunt gave him another and his cousin gave him ten and six, and I’ve got my gold watch and chain, which will mean a tenner at least, and Pug’s got his gold pin that his dead uncle left him. Altogether, it will be about fifteen pounds anyway, and it’ll cost us about a pound a day in London, and then we’ll go to Southampton and go to a boat and say we want to work our way, and of course they’ll let us. Pug and I are awfully strong, and you—you carry the plates and things.” London! It was the first time in all his life that that place had been brought within his reach. Of course, he had heard the grown-ups mention it, but always as something mysterious, far-away, magical. London! He had never conceived that he himself would one day set foot in it. How his world was extending! First, simply the house, then Polchester, then Rafiel and Caerlyon, then Thompson’s, then Craxton, and now London! Nevertheless, he was still practical. “How will you get to the station?” he asked. “Oh, we’ve thought all about it. It will be a Sunday—probably next Sunday. We’re allowed off all the afternoon, and there’s a train at Saroby Junction that goes to London at four o’clock. We’ll be in London by seven.” “If they catch you,” said Jeremy slowly, “there’ll be the most awful row.” “Of course,” said Stokesley contemptuously. “But they won’t. How can they? We’ll be in London by call-over; and we’ll move to different hotels, and as soon as we think they’re on to us we’ll be off to Southampton. There are boats go every day.” It was plain that Raikes was caught more and more deeply as Stokesley developed the plan. Jeremy himself felt to the full the wonderful adventure of it. The trouble was that now, at once, as soon as you had heard of it, the school looked dull and stupid. It had been all right as he came up to bed. He had been contented and happy, but now a longing for freedom surged through him, and for a moment he would like to climb through that window and run and run and run. . . .