“Thanks awfully. It’s jolly good of you. What a lucky thing for me that I should have chanced across one of the mater’s friends. It will be a lesson to me not to leave my exchequer lying about anywhere, when it ought to be in my pocket. I suppose the moral of the whole thing is don’t try and convert things to purposes for which they weren’t intended. Still, when a sovereign-purse has your crest on it⁠—”

“What is your crest, by the way?” asked Sletherby, carelessly.

“Not a very uncommon one,” said the youth; “a demi-lion holding a cross-crosslet in its paw.”

“When your mother wrote to me, giving me a list of trains, she had, if I remember rightly, a greyhound courant on her notepaper,” observed Sletherby. There was a tinge of coldness in his voice.

“That is the Jago crest,” responded the youth promptly; “the demi-lion is the Saltpen crest. We have the right to use both, but I always use the demi-lion, because, after all, we are really Saltpens.”