Bob again, and again Bob hardly seemed to appreciate it.
Bob led the way across the gravel and on to the first terrace. When they had left the crowd behind, he stopped.
"What's up?" asked Mike.
"I want you to read"
"Jackson!"
They both turned. The headmaster was standing on the edge of the gravel.
Bob pushed the letter into Mike's hands.
"Read that," he said, and went up to the headmaster. Mike heard the words "English Essay," and, seeing that the conversation was apparently going to be one of some length, capped the headmaster and walked off. He was just going to read the letter when the bell rang. He put the missive in his pocket, and went to his form-room wondering what Marjory could have found to say to Bob to touch him on the raw to such an extent. She was a breezy correspondent, with a style of her own, but usually she entertained rather than upset people. No suspicion of the actual contents of the letter crossed his mind.
He read it during school, under the desk; and ceased to wonder. Bob had had cause to look worried. For the thousand and first time in her career of crime Marjory had been and done it! With a strong hand she had shaken the cat out of the bag, and exhibited it plainly to all whom it might concern.
There was a curious absence of construction about the letter. Most authors of sensational matter nurse their bomb-shell, lead up to it, and display it to the best advantage. Marjory dropped hers into the body of the letter, and let it take its chance with the other news-items.
"Dear Bob" (the letter ran),—
"I hope you are quite well. I am quite well. Phyllis has a cold. Ella cheeked Mademoiselle yesterday,
