hinting.

'Good Lord, man,' he cried, 'you don't mean to say you're thinking of
sneaking? Why, the fellows would boot you round the field. You couldn't
stay in the place a week.'

'There are heaps of ways,' said Monk, 'in which a thing can get about
without anyone actually telling the beaks. At present I've not told a
soul. But, you know, if I let it out to anyone they might tell someone
else, and so on. And if everybody knows a thing, the beaks generally
get hold of it sooner or later. You'd much better let me have that four
quid, old chap.'

Farnie capitulated.

'All right,' he said, 'I'll get it somehow.'

'Thanks awfully, old chap,' said Monk, 'so long!'

In all Beckford there was only one person who was in the least degree
likely to combine the two qualities necessary for the extraction of
Farnie from his difficulties. These qualities were--in the first place
ability, in the second place willingness to advance him, free of
security, the four pounds he required. The person whom he had in his
mind was Gethryn. He had reasoned the matter out step by step during
the second half of morning school. Gethryn, though he had, as Farnie
knew, no overwhelming amount of affection for his uncle, might in a
case of great need prove blood to be thicker (as per advertisement)
than water. But, he reflected, he must represent himself as in danger
of expulsion rather than flogging. He had an uneasy idea that if the