Now, if there was one delicacy, known to this world, more delicious to old Ketch’s palate than another, it was tripe, seasoned with onions. His mouth watered as he read. He was aware that it was--to use the phraseology of Helstonleigh--“tripe night.” On two nights in the week, tripe was sold in the town ready dressed. This was one of them, and Ketch anticipated a glorious treat. In too great a hurry to cast so much as a glance round his lodge (crafty Bywater had been deep), not stopping even to put up the bread and cheese, away hobbled Ketch as fast as his lumbago would allow him, locking safely his door, and not having observed the absence of the keys. “He ain’t a bad sort, that Joe Jenkins,” allowed he, conciliated beyond everything at the prospect the invitation held out, and talking to himself as he limped away towards the street. “He don’t write a bad hand, neither! It’s a plain un; not one o’ them new-fangled scrawls that you can’t read. Him and his wife have held up their heads a cut above me--oh yes, they have, though, for all Joe’s humbleness--but the grand folks be a coming to. Old Jenkins has always said we’d have a supper together some night, him and me; I suppose this is it. I wonder what made him take and have it at Joe’s? If Joe don’t soon get better than he have looked lately--” The first chime of the cathedral clock giving notice of the hour, seven! Old Ketch broke out into a heat, and tried to hobble along more quickly. Seven o’clock! What if, through being late, his share of supper should be eaten! Peering out every now and then from the deep shade, cast by one of the angles of the cathedral, and as swiftly and cautiously drawn back again, was a trencher apparently watching Ketch. As soon as that functionary was fairly launched on his way, the trencher came out completely, and went flying at a swift pace round the college to the Boundaries. It was not worn by Bywater. Bywater, by the help of the stolen keys, was safe in the cloisters, absorbed with his companions in preparations for the grand event of the night. In point of fact, they were getting up Pierce senior. Their precise mode of doing that need not be given. They had requisites in abundance, having disputed among themselves which should be at the honour of the contribution, and the result was an undue prodigality of material. “There’s seven!” exclaimed Bywater in an agony, as the clock struck. “Make haste, Pierce! the young one was to come out at a quarter past. If you’re not ready, it will ruin all.” “I shall be ready and waiting, if you don’t bother,” was the response of Pierce. “I wonder if old Ketch is safely off?” “What a stunning fright Ketch would be in, if he came in here and met the ghost!” exclaimed Hurst. “He’d never think it was anything less than the Old Gentleman come for him.” A chorus of laughter, which Hurst himself hushed. It would not do for noise to be heard in the cloisters at that hour.