“Don’t you believe it.  If I should tell all I know about some of them, they wouldn’t be safe where they are, let me tell you.”

“What do you know, Tim?”

“I don’t choose to tell.”

Charles found some satisfaction in this indefinite accusation; but it was not enough to quiet his troubled conscience.  Life seemed different to him since he had stolen the purse—­he had not got far enough in wickedness yet to believe that it was not stolen.  He felt guilty, and his sense of guilt followed him wherever he went.  He could not shake it off.  Everybody seemed to look reproachfully at him.  He avoided his companions in the club when not on duty with them.  He began to hate Frank Sedley, though he could not tell the reason.  William Bright, who was now the coxswain, Frank’s term having expired, was a very strict disciplinarian, and the guilty boy had grown very impatient of restraint.  He was surly and ill-natured when the coxswain rebuked him, even in the kindest tones.  Everything went wrong with him, for the worm was gnawing at his heart.

“Won’t you tell me, Tim?” asked he, in reply to Tim’s remark.

“Not now, Charley; one of these days you shall know all about it.”

“I am afraid we shall both get turned out of the club.”

“No we shan’t; if we do——­ But no matter.’

“What would you do, Tim?”

“Never mind now, Charley.  I have a plan in my head.  Captain Sedley told me the other day if I didn’t behave better I should be turned out.”

“Then you will be.”

“I don’t care if I am.  If they turn me out, they will make a mistake; that’s all.”

There was something mysterious in the words of the Bunker which excited the curiosity of Charles.  He could not help wondering what he would do.  Tim had so much resolution he was sure it was not an idle boast.

“I know what I am about,” continued Tim, with a wise look.

“Captain Sedley says you still associate with your old companions,” added Charles.

“What if I do?”

“That would be ground enough for turning you out.”

“Would it?  They are better fellows than you long faces, and you will say so when you know them,” replied Tim, speaking as though it were a settled fact that he would know them by and by.

This conversation occurred one Wednesday afternoon, as the two boys were on their way to the boat-house.  On their arrival, Tim was informed by Captain Sedley, who was apparently there for that purpose, that he was expelled from the club.  It was sudden and unexpected, and had been done by the director without any action on the part of the club.

“What for?” asked Tim, in surly tones.

“I find that you still associate with your old companions, which is sufficient proof that you don’t mean to reform,” answered the director.

“I don’t care,” growled Tim, as he turned on his heel and walked out of the hall.