room on that morning. It was evident that the "blue funk" had nearly cleared away, and that the Freshman, having worked himself up to a state of feverish anxiety, was now experiencing the delightful sensation of unexpected relief.
"There! never mind about the kindness," replied Mr. Bouncer. "We 'll say no more about it. But, don't you ever bet on horse-racing again—more particularly with Blucher Boots."
"Indeed, I never will. This has been a lesson to me."
And it was something more than that; for this little episode in his life's history greatly helped to cement the friendship that Mr. Verdant Green already felt for little Mr. Bouncer. It showed him that, under all his peculiarities of language and manner, Mr. Bouncer was a person who was capable of giving him good advice and was ready to keep him from falling into those snares and temptations that beset every young man on his entrance into life, and none more so than a home-nurtured, inexperienced youth who is suddenly removed from a well-ordered household to the mixed society of a throng of undergraduates, in a beautiful city where he can freely procure all that he desires without troubling himself to think of present payment.
A fortnight after, when the memory of The Knight and the book on the Derby was beginning to fade from Mr. Verdant Green's mind, little Mr. Bouncer entering his room with a newspaper in his hand, said, "Giglamps, old fellow! your dark horse has been scratched."
"How cruel of them! why did they scratch it?" asked the Freshman.
"Oh, you sweet innocent!" laughed Mr. Bouncer. "The Knight's name has been scratched out of the list
