There was a bad practice prevailing in the college school, chiefly resorted to by the senior boys: it was that of pledging their goods and chattels. Watches, chains, silver pencil-cases, books, or anything else available, were taken to Rutterley, the pawnbroker's, without scruple. Of course this was not known to the masters. A tale was told of Jones tertius having taken his surplice to Rutterley's one Monday morning; and, being unable to redeem it on the Saturday, he had lain in bed all day on the Sunday, and sent word to the head master that he had sprained his ankle. On the Monday, he limped into the school, apparently in excruciating pain, to the sympathy of the masters, and intense admiration of the senior boys. Henry Arkell had never been guilty of this practice, but he was asking himself, all college time, why he should not be, for once, and so relieve the pressure at home. His gold watch, the gift of Mr. Arkell, was worth, at his own calculation, twenty pounds, and he thought there could be no difficulty in pledging it for ten. "It is not an honourable thing, I know," he reasoned with himself; "but the boys do it every day for their own pleasures, and surely I may in this dreadful strait." Service was over in less than an hour, and he left the cathedral by the front entrance. Being Saturday afternoon, there was no school. The streets were crowded; the high sheriff and his procession had already gone out to meet the judges, and many gazers lingered, waiting for their return. Henry hastened through them, on his way to the pawnbroker's. Possessed of that sensitive, refined temperament, had he been going into the place to steal, he could not have felt more shame. The shop was partitioned off into compartments or boxes, so that one customer should not see another. If Henry Arkell could but have known his ill-luck! In the box contiguous to the one he entered, stood Alfred Aultane, the boy next below him in the choir, who had stolen down with one of the family tablespoons, which he had just been protesting to the pawnbroker was his own, and that he would have it out on Monday without fail, for his godfather the counsellor was coming in with the judges, and never failed to give him half a sovereign. But that disbelieving pawnbroker obstinately persisted in refusing to have anything to do with the spoon, for he knew the Aultane crest; and Mr. Alfred stood biting his nails in mortification. "Will you lend me ten pounds on this?" asked Henry, coming in, and not suspecting that anybody was so near. "Ten pounds!" uttered Rutterley, after examining the watch. "You college gentlemen have got a conscience! I could not give more than half." "That would be of no use: I must have ten. I shall be sure to redeem it, Mr. Rutterley." "I am not afraid of that. The college boys mostly redeem their pledges; I will say that for them. I will lend you six pounds upon it, not a farthing more. What can you be wanting with so large a sum?"