And Tom humorously threw back his head, and strutted about with mock pride.

“To be sure,” said Oscar, “you don’t belong to one of the first families of Boston, like our friend, Fitz.”

“No, I belong to one of the second families.  You can’t blame me, for I can’t help it.”

“No, I won’t blame you, but of course I consider you low.”

“I am afraid, Tom, I haven’t got any cousins in the tin trade, like Fitz.”

“Poor Fitz! he little dreams of his impending trial.  If he did, I am afraid he wouldn’t sleep a wink to-night.”

“I wish I thought as much of myself as Fitz does,” said Henry Fairbanks.  “You can see by his dignified pace, and the way he tosses his head, how well satisfied he is with being Fitzgerald Fletcher, Esq.”

“I’ll bet five cents he won’t strut round so much to-morrow afternoon,” said Tom, “after his interview with his new cousin.  But hush, boys!  Not a word more of this.  There’s Fitz coming up the hill.  I wouldn’t have him suspect what’s going on, or he might defeat our plans by staying away.”

CHAPTER XI.

Fitz and his cousin.

The next morning at eight the boys began to gather in the field beside the Seminary.  They began to play ball, but took little interest in the game, compared with the “tragedy in real life,” as Tom jocosely called it, which was expected soon to come off.

Fitz appeared upon the scene early.  In fact one of the boys called for him, and induced him to come round to school earlier than usual.  Significant glances were exchanged when he made his appearance, but Fitz suspected nothing, and was quite unaware that he was attracting more attention than usual.

Punctually at half-past eight, Abner Bickford with his tin-cart appeared in the street, and with a twitch of the rein began to ascend the Academy Hill.

“Look there,” said Tom Carver, “the tin-pedler’s coming up the hill.  Wonder if he expects to sell any of his wares to us boys.  Do you know him, Fitz?”

“I!” answered Fitzgerald with a scornful look, “what should I know of a tin-pedler?”

Tom’s mouth twitched, and his eyes danced with the anticipation of fun.

By this time Mr. Bickford had brought his horse to a halt, and jumping from his box, approached the group of boys, who suspended their game.

“We don’t want any tinware,” said one of the boys, who was not in the secret.

“Want to know!  Perhaps you haven’t got tin enough to pay for it.  Never mind, I’ll buy you for old rags, at two cents a pound.”

“He has you there, Harvey,” said Tom Carver.  “Can I do anything for you, sir?”

“Is your name Fletcher?” asked Abner, not appearing to recognize Tom.

“Why, he wants you, Fitz!” said Harvey, in surprise.

“This gentleman’s name is Fletcher,” said Tom, placing his hand on the shoulder of the astonished Fitzgerald.