“I’ve hardly touched it: you needn’t be so rottenly selfish.” He returned to his stamp album, whose leaves presented that richly glossy appearance which is imparted by an over-liberal use of gum. “I wonder if the Batts could give me some stamps? They must have lots in the house: the old captain must have sent letters from all kinds of countries.” “I don’t think you’d better ask,” said Grif. “I expect his grandson got any there were.” “They might tell me I could have his collection, if I asked,” remarked Jim, thoughtfully. “They wouldn’t. They keep all his things. They’re all together in the room he used to have.” “But you don’t even know that he collected stamps; and at any rate there isn’t any harm in trying.” “If I were you I would go up to the church to-morrow afternoon and ask Mr. Bradley for some,” said Palmer, ironically. “_He’s_ sure to have a lot.” “To-morrow’s Sunday,” Jim objected. “Oh, that won’t matter with such a friendly old chap.” “The reason he got angry with you,” said Grif, “was because you frightened him. I did it too, the first time I went.” Palmer nodded. “He’s very easily frightened. There’s something queer about him altogether.” Grif frowned a little: he did not like his friends to be criticized. “I don’t see how it’s your business, even if there is,” he said. “There are some things that are everybody’s business,” returned Palmer, wisely. “What things?” “Oh, all kinds of things.” “He thinks Bradley must have done something wrong,” Edward interposed. “He hasn’t,” said Grif, “and even if he had it wouldn’t be any business of Palmer’s.” “You don’t think Mr. Bradley is a burglar, do you, Balmer?” asked Ann, in thrilled tones; for more than ever now she was willing to take Palmer’s opinion upon any subject that happened to crop up. Palmer seemed annoyed. “I don’t know what he is,” he answered shortly. “I only said there was something queer about him. What are the letters he’s always expecting, and which never come? And why does he want to go at night and play on the organ? It must be because he can’t sleep. And if he can’t sleep it may be because there is something on his mind to keep him awake.” “I think it’s rotten to talk like that,” Grif burst out indignantly. “And I think all that sort of prying about and asking questions is rotten too. You may call it being a detective, but I don’t like it, and I don’t believe any decent boy would do it.” Such an explosion, coming from such a quarter, was so unusual that everybody stared. Palmer coloured, and Grif instantly became filled with contrition. “I’m sorry, Palmer,” he said quickly. “I know you’re not like that. Only――why can’t you leave him alone?”