CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
PRETTY WARM ALL ROUND.
"Dicky, old chap, I'm in a howling mess." "The same old one, or a new one ?" "It's about those blessed bills of Tempest's--I wish I'd let them alone.
You see, it was this way.

How was I to know?
I'm sure I never meant to do anything shady." "I dare say not, but what _are_ you talking about ?" "Why, I've been regularly let in.

You see, I--" "Look here, old chap, let's hear what it is," said the practical Dicky.
"Why, the fact is, most of the chaps wanted to stand me something when I squared up with them, and Crofter tries to make out I'm a thief, and he's going to show me up to Tempest." "But you didn't let them ?" "Well, yes, one or two.

You see, Marple gave me a pencil-sharpener, and Rammage a strawberry ice, and Ringstead a net-bag and spikes--jolly bad ones too, they all came out in a week." "And does Crofter say you swindled him or Tempest ?" "I didn't think I was swindling anybody," said I evasively.
"You made a pretty good thing out of it, though." "I know.

I say, Dicky, what's to be done?
I thought I was going to pull round all square this term--really I did--and now I'm in a regular fix." Dicky pondered.
"It was a bit shady," said he, with his refreshing candour; "the sort of thing Ananias and--" "Oh, for pity's sake, Dicky, if that's all you've got to say--" "It's not.