At all events, she'll have the letter to-morrow, and I'll tell you fellows when I give it her, only of course you mustn't breathe a word to any one else." "All right: we won't," answered Diggory, "except to old Mugford, because he's one of the Alliance, and we've sworn not to have any secrets from each other, and he won't split." That evening the Triple Alliance lay awake until a late hour discussing the situation.

Mugford's opening comment was certainly worth recording,-- "I hope she'll accept him." "Why ?" "Why, because if she does, I should think old Welsby'll give us a half-holiday." It was evident at breakfast, to those who were in the know, that Acton was prepared for the venture.

He was wearing a clean collar and new necktie, and ate only four pieces of bread and butter, besides his bacon.
"He's shown me the letter," whispered Diggory to Jack Vance; "only I promised I wouldn't say what was in it, but it ends up with a piece of poetry as long as this table!" After morning school was the time agreed upon for the dux to cast the die which was to decide his future; and as soon as the classes were dismissed, Jack Vance and Diggory met him by appointment in one corner of the garden.
"I've done it," he said, looking awfully solemn.

"She was in the hall, and I gave it to her as I came out.

I say, how many _t's_ are there in 'attachment' ?" Jack Vance thought one, Diggory said two; and the company then relapsed into silence, and stood with gloomy looks upon their faces, as though they were waiting to take part in a funeral procession.
At length a voice from the house was heard calling, "Fred--Fred Acton!" The dux turned a trifle pale, but pulling himself together, marched off with a firm step to learn his fate.
"She called him Fred," murmured Diggory; "that sounds hopeful." "Oh, that's nothing," answered Jack Vance; "Miss Eleanor always calls fellows by their Christian names.