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 turned to a small photograph on the mantelpiece. It featured a pretty dolly-faced girl, the daughter of one of the masters at the grammar school.

"You haven't got any friends, have you?" asked Anthony.

Mr. Tetteridge shook his head. "I don't think so," he answered.

"Couldn't you keep a school?" suggested Anthony, "for little boys and girls whose mothers don't like them going to the parish school and who ain't good enough for the Miss Warmingtons? There's heaps of new people always coming here. And you're so clever at teaching."

Mr. Tetteridge, halting suddenly, stretched out his hand; and Anthony, taking his from underneath him, they shook.

"Thanks awfully," said Mr. Tetteridge. "Do you know I'd never thought of that."

"I shouldn't say anything about it if I was you," counselled Anthony, "or somebody else might slip in and do it before you were ready."

"We say, 'if I were you'; not 'if I was you, Mr. Tetteridge corrected him. "We'll take the subjunctive mood tomorrow. It's quite easy to remember."

Again he stretched out his hand. "It's awfully good of you," he said.