term, and I share it with a fellow named Gammage. He's an awfully good
egg!"

"What extraordinary language schoolboys do manage to get hold of," I
thought as I re-read the letter while bowling along in the cab on my
way to the station, which, a very few minutes later, came in sight, the
platform being crowded with parents, relatives and friends waiting to
meet the train by which so many Marlburians were travelling.

There was a shriek from an engine, and a rattle and clatter outside the
station, as the train, every window filled with boys' excited faces,
came dashing up to the platform.

"There's my people!" "There's Tom!" "Hi! hi! Here I am!" "There's the
pater with the trap!" "Hooray!" To the accompaniment of a babel of cries
like these, and amidst an excited scramble of half-wild schoolboys, I
at last discovered my small cousin.

"There he is!" he said, pointing me out to a young friend who was with
him; and coming up he hurriedly offered his hand.

"How are you, _Sutcliffe_?" I asked, remembering his letter.

"All right, thanks," he replied. "This is Gammage. I wanted to show you
to him. He wouldn't believe I had a cousin as old as you are. See,
Gammage?"

Gammage looked at me and nodded. "'Bye, Sutcliffe; good-bye, sir," said
he, raising his hat to me and hurrying off to his "people."