"and I'm going to hunt them up."

"Look here, Fairburn," said the other, springing from his seat and
placing a patronizing hand on his companion's shoulder, "just make
yourself comfortable here with me for the night, and I'll settle the
bill for both of us in the morning." He spoke rather grandly, jingling
the coins in his pocket the while.

"I can settle my own bills, thank you," answered Fairburn, a proud hot
flush overspreading his face. And, seizing his little bag, the lad
strode from the room and out of the inn, shivering as the chill
northeasterly breeze caught him in the now dark and almost deserted
street.

"Confound the fellow with his purse-proud patronage!" he muttered as
he hurried along.

"Bless me, why is he so touchy?" Blackett was asking himself at the
same moment. "We seem fated to quarrel, Fairburn's family and ours.
Whose is the pride now, I wonder! Fairburn thinks a deal of his
independence, as he calls it; I should call it simply pride, myself.
But I might have known that he wouldn't accept my offer after his
refusal of an inside place with me this morning, and after riding all
those miles from York to-day in the bitter cold. Heigh-ho, the quarrel
won't be of my seeking anyhow."

These two lads were both sons of colliery owners, and both pupils of
the ancient school of St. Peter of York, the most notable foundation
north of the Humber. But there the likeness ended. Matthew Blackett's
father was a rich man and descended from generations of rich men. He