It was an attempt to buy us all over at the cost of that unlucky shilling, and with it to secure Crofter in the authority which he so dearly coveted, but so far so imperfectly enjoyed.
The Philosophers, as might be expected, waxed very indignant when I made a clean breast of the whole matter.

With their usual frankness they quite admitted that I might have pilfered the shilling.

That sort of thing, they remarked, was quite in my line, and in keeping with my character generally; and they hoped to live to see me hung.

But as to caving in to Crofter as the cost of my shelter, they drew the line at that.

He had no right to impose new rules, or take away the immemorial privileges of the "Sharpers." Besides, if they gave in on this point, they would immediately have to go and ask his leave to practise for the Sports in Callow Meadow, which was just out of bounds, and where, in strict seclusion, diligent practice had been going on for a week, with most promising results.
I was thereupon ordered to write a laconic rejoinder to the tempting offer, the Philosophers promising to back me up in the matter of the shilling and see me through it.
With a heavy heart, therefore, I sat down and penned the following brief epistle, which was approved by the faggery and ordered to be laid on Crofter's table before bed-time.
"Dear Crofter,--We all think it's not good enough.