murphies, we'll have a penn'orth each for tea; come along, or they'll all be gone."
Tom's new purse and money burnt in his pocket; he wondered, as they toddled through the quadrangle and along the street, whether East would be insulted if he suggested further extravagance, as he had not sufficient faith in a pennyworth of potatoes. At last he blurted out,—
"I say. East, can't we get something else besides potatoes? I've got lots of money, you know."
"Bless us, yes, I forgot," said East, "you've only just come. You see all my tin's been gone this twelve weeks, it hardly ever lasts beyond the first fortnight; and our allowances were all stopped this morning for broken windows, so I haven't got a penny. I've got a tick at Sally's, of course; but then I hate running it high, you see, towards the end of the half, 'cause one has to shell out for it all directly one comes back, and that's a bore."
Tom didn't understand much of this talk, but seized on the fact that East had no money and was denying himself some little pet luxury in consequence. "Well, what shall I buy?" said he; "I'm uncommon hungry."
"I say," said East, stopping to look at him and rest his leg, "you're a trump. Brown. I'll do the same by you next half. Let's have a pound of sausages then; that's the best grub for tea I know of."
"Very well," said Tom, as pleased as possible; "where do they sell them?"
"Oh, over here, just opposite;" and they crossed the street and walked into the cleanest little front room of a small house, half parlour, half shop, and bought a pound of most particular sausages; East
