He had talked slowly on to give Paul time. The boy's face was a study. Even then, he hardly took it in. "Do you mean go--go--as your--your guest?" he stammered. "No," said Tressor, "not exactly as my guest. Have some more coffee? You see, I want you to do some work. Go as my agent, let us say. My housekeeper will look after you, and be glad of it, and I'll give you a small salary. You'll keep yourself, and, I think, you'll write. To be honest, I think you'll write well." "Oh, I say!" cried Paul, only when it came to the point he had nothing to say. "I take it that's settled then?" Words came with a rush. "I'd like it more than anything on earth. It would be absolutely too good to be true. I can't thank you enough. I--I----" "Right, then. Thank me by writing good poetry. By the way, Manning is coming down with me in August; do you think you could join us, and remain on?" "I must consult my father, of course," said Paul, "but I'm certain I can say yes. How perfectly too glorious. Oh, I say, you're just too good to me, sir." "Let's go and smoke a cigarette in the Fellows' Garden." On the way Paul remembered that another Children's Special Service Mission had been in the air for that August. Dick Hartley had urged it. Well, it was no longer in the air. (3) Paul met his parents on the station platform. Mr. Kestern shook his hand firmly; his mother kissed him with tears of pride in her eyes. "Oh, Paul," she whispered, "I'm so glad. Father's just delighted." "The Lord has given you brains, sonnie," said the clergyman. "I pray that you will use them always in His service." "Yes, father," said Paul. "I say, I've such news for you." "So have we, Paul," said Mrs. Kestern. "Madeline and Mr. Ernest are coming up to see you take your degree." "Are they? How jolly! We'll have a picnic up the river. But you'll never guess what I've got to tell you. Wait till we're in the cab. Porter, lend a hand with these traps, will you? I've got rooms for you quite near St. Mary's, mother." "Yes, dear. Oh, Paul, I can't believe you're grown up! It's so funny to have my little son taking rooms for me." Paul took her arm. "But, mater dear, I wish you would remember how old I am." Mrs. Kestern sighed. "We don't want to lose you, dear," she said wistfully. They were on thin ice, he thought. "Come on, this way. That cab will do for us. In you get, mother." "Well, Paul, and what's the great news?" asked his father as they drove off. Paul studied his face. He could not tell how he would take it. He would be disappointed, but he might be rather proud. Anyway, he must plunge. "Mr. Tressor, father, wants me to go down to Fordham, nominally as his agent, really to have a year at least in which to write. He thinks I shall be able to do some good stuff. It will cost me nothing; he will even give me a small salary; and I shall really and truly be able to write at last."