"I'm driving at no one," said the Boy, struck suddenly again with terror. He had not dreamed that the upper servants felt so strongly upon the immunity of lords such as he in whose pocket the gem, to Ethelbert's certain knowledge, reposed--for he had put it there. "You've been a-brushing the clothes, young lad, have yer? Yes, of course you have; that's your place; and setting 'em out as they should be set. And you say you found something in the pocket of the 'ighest, did you?" "I never ..." began Ethelbert, almost on the point of howling. "You shut your dangerous young mouth," shouted Mr. Whaley. "It's talking like that against your betters as 'as put many and many a lad in prison." "Oh, sir!" said the unfortunate Bert. "Now look here, my Boy," went on Mr. Whaley, in his heaviest manner, slowly transforming himself into the distant Superior and pronouncing divine moral judgment and guidance, as it were, for the very young. "You listen to me, and listen solemn. This may be a turning point in your life, it may. Talk like this among the lower servants, let alone a little bastard not yet sixteen, 'as been the ruin of some--aye, of many. So I tell ye. The gaols are full of 'em. Now, you mark what I say, young Ethelbert"--it was the first time he had ever used the entire name, but the occasion demanded it--"one word from your lips, and you're ruined. It's well you come to one like me, that might be your father like, and that has a care for your future, my lad. Remember that! One word from your lips, and you're ruined. It's not for you to be piecing this and that together. Gentlemen 'ave got ways o' their own, and, anyhow, I'm slow to believe you. There may be a game about all this, and, anyhow, not a word from your lips. Mark, my lad!" he went on, his voice booming, "ye're lost if ye speak. Have you taken that?" he ended, almost shouting again. "Oh, yes, sir!" said the miserable Ethelbert, trembling. "Oh, sir, I meant no harm...." "Well, then, you go and _do_ no harm," concluded Mr. Whaley, and waved the infant away. * * * * * * * Mr. Whaley rose to his full height and girth and stretched. He looked in a little square looking-glass, one of his necessaries of life, thought his tie doubtful, carefully and gingerly put on a new one, worthy of the occasion. His boots--he glanced down at them--yes, his boots would do. His trousers were just what they should be. The fringe of hair round the majestic dome of his head never needed attention less than now.