"Look here, Brown: you wanted to buy my knife for three shillings the other day, and I laughed at you. You shall have it now. It cost four-and-six pence." Brown minor, a regular screw at a bargain, took the knife in his hand for a critical examination. "I'd not give that now, Dick. You've used it." "I've not hurt it," answered Dick. "I haven't a penny in my pocket," he continued ruefully; "I want money for something, or I'd not sell it. What will you give?" "I don't mind two shillings." Dick tossed over the knife and held out his hand for the money. Brown gave eighteenpence; it was all he had about him, he said, and promised the other sixpence later. Dick took the available cash and started off to the shops. Half an hour later Mr. Henry was disturbed by his sudden entrance with a cargo of treasures. Three sour oranges, but the best Dick could get; an apple as large as a child's head; some almond rock; two bath buns; an ounce of cough lozenges; and Captain Marryat's novel "Snarley Yow," which he had gone in trust for. These several articles he tumbled out upon the bed. "If you will try an orange, or a piece of the rock, Mr. Henry, you'll be sure to like them," said Dick earnestly. "And the book's beautiful. You'll laugh yourself into fits over it." Mr. Henry caught the boy's hands, his eyes glistening with dew: "Thank you very much, Dick! God bless you. This kindness does me good." He did not damp the generous ardour by saying that the purchases would be useless to him: rather did he seem to make much of the collection in his grateful good nature. And Dick Loftus, wringing the delicate hand, turned tail and bustled out again: for his eyes were glistening too. CHAPTER XXIII. Falling from a Pinnacle. You might decidedly have thought that Mr. Raymond Trace was treading upon air. But that it was almost dark—for the examination had only terminated when the shades of evening fell—his bearing might have excited the admiration of his fellows. His back was upright, his face was lifted; pride and self-sufficiency puffed him out. He had come out well before the examiners, and there could be no moral doubt that the prize would be his. Talbot had also done well—they were about upon a par; but Trace and everybody else knew that Talbot, his junior in the college, would not be preferred to him. The examiners had complimented him; the Head Master had shaken hands with him; Trace felt elevated to the seventh heaven, and was walking forth to impart the glorious news at Sir Simon's. Treading upon air. His gown was thrown back from his shoulders, his trencher sat jauntily on his head, his boots creaked, his feet seemed not to touch the ground. Just before he turned in at Sir Simon's gate, he saw two people turn out of it, and recognized George Paradyne and his mother. Trace vouchsafed no notice whatever, and thought it very like their impudence to be there. George, who did not recognize him at the first moment, ran after him inside the grounds.