He had heard, he said, that no
one had ever got a kingfisher's nest out perfect, and that the British
Museum, or the Government, or somebody, had offered 100 pounds to any
one who could bring them a nest and eggs not damaged. In the middle of
which astounding announcement, to which the others were listening with
open ears, and already considering the application of the 100 pounds, a
knock came to the door, and East's voice was heard craving admittance.
"There's Harry," said Tom; "we'll let him in. I'll keep him steady,
Martin. I thought the old boy would smell out the supper."
The fact was, that Tom's heart had already smitten him for not asking
his fidus Achates to the feast, although only an extempore affair; and
though prudence and the desire to get Martin and Arthur together alone
at first had overcome his scruples, he was now heartily glad to open the
door, broach another bottle of beer, and hand over the old ham-knuckle
to the searching of his old friend's pocket-knife.
"Ah, you greedy vagabonds," said East, with his mouth full, "I knew
there was something going on when I saw you cut off out of hall so
quick with your suppers. What a stunning tap, Tom! You are a wunner for
bottling the swipes."
"I've had practice enough for the sixth in my time, and it's hard if I
haven't picked up a wrinkle or two for my own benefit."
"Well, old Madman, and how goes the bird-nesting campaign? How's
Howlett? I expect the young rooks'll be out in another fortnight, and
then my turn comes.
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