Date: Tue, 26 Jan 2016 15:23:12 -0500
From: Pete Bruno <farmboy7456@gmail.com>
Subject: Noblesse Oblige Book 2 Chapter 4

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Noblesse Oblige

By Henry H. Hilliard
With Pete Bruno

Book Two
An Indian Summer

Chapter 4


When he returned to school, Stephen faced an important hurdle: it was an
essay on Great Expectations.  Stephen had gone over his notes and reread
certain parts of the text in preparation.  On the day of the test he
thought he wrote well and was confident.

The following night Julian and Stephen went to the pub for, what turned out
to be, several pints while Christopher reluctantly had to stay home and
work on his maths.  Two of the girls who loitered in the vicinity tried to
pick them up.  Stephen made an excuse to leave and Julian left in the other
direction with the girls on his arms.  Stephen wondered what Julian would
look like fucking both girls at the same time; it might be a very
attractive sight, thought Stephen, as he imagined, from what he had
glimpsed in the changing sheds, that he would be pretty vigorous and have a
big cock with lots of black body hair.  He rubbed himself through his
trousers at this speculation.

Back at Mrs Leybourne's Stephen fell into bed.  He was awoken sometime
after midnight by a soft rapping on his door.  He pulled himself up on the
pillow by his elbows to find it was Christopher in his dressing gown and
looking very excited.

"I say Stephen, sorry to wake you but I was feeling all-you know-and
couldn't sleep.  I hope you don't mind awfully."

Stephen rubbed his eyes and flattened his erection and said, "No, old chap,
it's alright anytime.  What time is it, by the way?"

"Oh, about half past one.  I've been doing that maths prep and I can't
sleep."

"Because of the maths?"

"No, you chump, because of this!  Let me light the gas so you can see it."
Christopher handed him another photograph, this time of two women.  "It
came from London with some pictures of Evelyn Nesbit and Florence Brady I
bought."

The girl with the tongue bore a passing similarity to Miss Orchard-Baird,
thought Stephen who said, "Do you really think there are many twin sisters
in French convents, Chris?"

"I don't know or care, but these two are awfully ripping and I'd love to be
there!"

"Would you like to be doing that?"

"I don't know.  Would girls like a fellow to do that to them?"

"I think they would Chris.  Are you hard?"  Christopher opened his dressing
gown to reveal that he was both naked and excited."

"The sheets were driving me crazy," he said, "just like you said."

"Come on; get into bed with me before you freeze." He moved over as
Christopher threw off his dressing gown and slid under the covers, letting
his cock slide against the fabric.  Stephen folded back the covers so that
Chris' cock and balls were exposed.

"Well, go on, start pleasuring yourself.  Do you want me to hold the
photograph for you?"  Chris nodded.  "Gently Chris, you'll hurt yourself.
Did you oil-up first?" Again he nodded.

When he was fully hard, Stephen inspected him.  "You've got a nice head
shaped like a bobby's helmet, Chris.  The girls will love it."  Chris
beamed under Stephen's praise.  "You've got a nice wide slit.  Here, try
this."  He produced a silk handkerchief from somewhere and dragged it
across the sensitive head where it teased the edges of the opening in an
almost unbearable fashion.  Chris' eyes rolled back.

"I don't need the photo anymore, Stephen," he sighed, "Keep doing it,
please!"

Stephen knocked his hands away from his cock when he tried to touch it and
continued to trail the silk across Christopher's erection.  "You need to
make yourself last before spilling; girls like that and so will you."

Stephen took the handkerchief away and got Christopher to stretch his skin
back and hold it there. "That makes it harder-well it makes me harder.  I
like to pull on my balls.  Do you do that?"

"No, that would hurt, wouldn't it?  I don't think I'd like that."

"It hurts but feels good too.  You've got to stretch slowly but not crush
anything.  Here let me show you."  Stephen uncovered himself.  He was hard
and leaking.  He tasted his clear fluid and passed some to Chris. "Tastes
nice, doesn't it?"  Chris agreed.  He pulled first on the bottom of his
scrotum, initially with one hand and then with two, making his sack
resemble a leather purse.  Then he reached above his balls and pulled
downwards as if he were milking a cow.  "Oh, yes, that feels very good.
You pull on them, Chris."

Chris was tentative but knelt on the bed and grabbed Stephen's balls, being
careful not to squeeze.  He pulled steadily downwards.  "Harder, Chris, I
can take it."  Chris continued to pull and Stephen's forehead broke out in
a cold sweat.  He placed his free hand on Stephen's chest for leverage.  At
last Stephen said, "That's enough!" and Chris released his grasp, amazed
that he hadn't caused any damage. "Don't worry, that felt good.  You've got
big balls, Chris, they could take it too" said Stephen cupping the boy.

"I really don't think I'd like that," replied, Christopher.

"Right, now try something else; something from last time," said Stephen.
Christopher rolled onto his stomach and started frotting the mattress with
his aching cock.  Stephen assisted by placing both hands on his buttocks
and driving the boy's groin harder and harder into the bed.  Stephen
whispered into his ear: "Just imagine you're on top of Mlle Derriere.
She's moaning and telling you to go harder.  Imagine the nuns, pulling her
away and telling you that they want you to fuck them both.  They want you
Chris.  They like the way you do it to them."  Chris was moaning into the
mattress.  Stephen now lay beside him and also frotted the mattress, with
powerful thrusts, keeping up his encouraging dialogue and setting the
rhythm.

"I'm going to spend, Stephen!" cried Christopher.

"Keep going. Don't worry.  Don't stop!"

With a moan Christopher spilled somewhere beneath his body.  Stephen kept
going and now his legs were spread wide and his arms clasped either side of
the bed.  Christopher assisted by pressing down on Stephen's buttocks, just
as Stephen had to him.  It took quite a long time, but Stephen spilled too,
making a very loud grunt.

Both boys were exhausted when they rolled over.  Stephen examined his cock,
which was raw from the friction.  He showed it to Christopher. "See, always
use plenty of oil.  Was that good?" he said as he reached up and turned out
the gas.

"I'll say.  I never knew it could feel like this.  You've taught me a lot.
I'm going to make sure I enjoy myself."

"You do that," said Stephen, in the dark.  "Maybe we can go up to London
and meet some of these girls.  Would you like to go with a girl or are you
waiting until you're married?"

"I don't think I can wait, Stephen.  It would be fun going to London with
you.  Wouldn't your sweetheart object?"

"Oh my sweetheart would have to come too."

"Oh," said Chris.  There was a long pause.

"Do you-you know-with your sweetheart, if that's a fair thing to ask?"

"Yes I do."

"And you're not worried about having a baby?"

"No."

"You miss your sweetheart when you're at school?"  There was another pause.

"Very much."

"Stephen?"

"Yes,"

"Does it hurt the girls when you go inside them?"

"It can, if you're inexperienced.  That's why the oil is good.  You mustn't
rush matters."

"What do they say when they see your big cock?"

"They say it won't fit and that it will hurt." said Stephen smiling in the
dark, "but it always does fit."

"How does that make you feel when they say that?"

"Like a man," said Stephen quietly, still smiling, "but you've got a cock
and balls to be proud of, Chris, and with some practice?"

But there was no reply for Christopher had fallen asleep snuggled next to
Stephen on the sodden mattress.  Stephen just let him sleep.  He liked
Chris, but having him there made him only realise how much he ached for his
Mala.


Christopher, his dressing gown and his artistic photograph were gone when
Stephen awoke in the sticky bed the next morning.  However he saw him, his
usual smiling self, at breakfast.

"Sorry about last night.  I was tired," he said.

"All that maths prep-terribly wearisome," said Stephen as Mrs Leybourne
came and sat down, telling the maid to bring some more bacon for her two
young gentlemen.

The English Literature class was mid-morning.  Stephen was already at his
desk at the front when Christopher entered and smiled secretly to him, with
a strange expression on his face.  Stephen grinned when he looked down and
saw the prefect's cock clearly outlined in his black school trousers and,
upon closer inspection, there was a small damp patch on the coarse
material.

Mr Mingis was handing back the essays.  When he came to Stephen he said to
the class, "Mr Knight has made the most common mistake of the fool.  He has
written four pages but has simply retold the story to me, instead of
addressing the question.  Do you think I'm an ignorant oaf, Mr Knight?  Do
you think I've never read the works of Charles Dickens?  I don't need you
to tell me the story.  I'd rather have Mr Dickens do that in better
English.  I did foolishly hope that you might have had some thoughts on the
question I so obviously wasted my time in positing before you."

He flung the paper in front of Stephen who read the mark: 29%.

"Mr Selby-Keam, however, has written as well as Mr Vane-Gillingham-have I
told you, class, about Mr Vane-Gillingham who is now at Oxford?"

The class had indeed heard of this savant and let out a groan.  Mingis
continued: "This is an excellent essay and attacked the question, bringing
out some points I hadn't thought of myself.  Well done my boy," he
concluded with a stroke to Selby-Keam's bonce.

"But this isn't my essay, sir.  That's mine you've given to Knight," said
the scholar.

The colour drained from the master's face.  "What are you saying boy?  Of
course it's yours.  It's your violet ink and it is initialled 'S.K.' on
each page."

"S.K. Stephen Knight, sir and I asked if I could try out his new Waterman
pen.  This one is mine, I'm afraid, sir," he said, taking the one so
recently reviled from in front of Stephen, "See my name is on the last
page- that is if you read down to there."

"What!" exploded Mingis, as he looked from essay-to-essay then boy-to-boy
in disbelief.  There was nothing he could do.  He picked up the Waterman
and with a curse impaled the deceitful instrument into the desk.  The class
erupted with glee, except for Stephen and Selby-Keam who were mute.

Stephen was of course the hero of the hour, but he disappeared in the
direction of Dr Davis' study and knocked on the door.

"Mr Knight," cried Dr Davis, "I was just thinking of you.  How well you
batted the other week.  I look forward to your performance next season.
That is if you are still with us.  I hope you will be."

"I hope I will be too, sir.  I have enjoyed this term.  I hope I have
fitted in to Blandford Forum."

"Indeed you have, sir.  Your masters have given you glowing reports, -er,
except for Mr Mingis who seems to think that you are likely to struggle
with Literature.  You could drop it if you like; pick up another study."

"I like Literature, sir.  However, I am having a small difficulty, sir-but
not with the books, sir," said Stephen, brushing back his hair from his
left eye.

"Eh?" said Dr Davis.

"Well, it must be my poor memory, sir.  Mr Mingis finds that I often
neglect to hand in my homework or do an essay on time or that I will lose a
page out of work that I thought I had handed in; perhaps I'm careless with
the paper clip.  I was wondering, sir, if I might hand the work to you,
sir, and that you would pass it on to Mr Mingis.  That way there could be
no mistakes."

"Does this happen in History or any other subjects?"

"Apparently not sir."

"Well this is an unusual request, Mr Knight."

"My guardian would be very pleased if you could assist me, sir.  He is
anxious for me to do my best."

"Your guardian?  I thought you had a stepfather, Mr Knight."

"I do sir, but I also have a guardian."

"Who is your guardian?" asked Dr Davis, preparing to note the name.

"The Marquess of Branksome, Dr Davis."

Dr Davis dropped his pencil and sat back in astonishment.  "The Marquess of
Branksome is your guardian, Knight?"

"Yes sir."

"But I thought you were a scholarship boy?"

"I am, sir, I was awarded the scholarship, I hope, on my own merits and
before I was adopted by his lordship."

"Well, well, I hope his lordship will pay us a visit.  We'd be honoured."

"Unfortunately he is an invalid, Dr Davis, but his brother Lord Martin I
will certainly ask to visit.  I hope you will keep this in confidence.  And
do you think I could hand my work to you, sir?"

"Yes, yes, of course, my boy. And Knight?"

"Yes sir?"

"Write your name and the date and the number on every page and pin them
together securely.  I will initial the work when you give it to me."

"Thank you, Dr Davis.  I have enjoyed this term.  Thank you for accepting
me."

"Enjoy your half-term break, Mr Knight," said Dr Davis as he showed Stephen
out the door.


Martin's school broke-up a day after Stephen's.  His train had stopped at
Winchester when, to his surprise he heard his name being called from out on
the platform.  He pulled the window down to see Stephen hastening along the
platform, peering into every carriage.  "Here Stephen!" he called and swung
the door open.  He pulled Stephen inside just as the train began to move.

"Oh Mala!"

"What is it Stephen?  Whatever's wrong?  And what are you doing here?"

"Nothing's wrong," replied Stephen, out of breath, and then he kissed
Martin, wrapping his arms around his neck before he saw that Martin was not
alone in the carriage.  A parson was sitting in the corner, but he was fast
asleep.

"What on earth are you here for, then?"

"I just couldn't wait to see you so I came to Winchester to surprise you."

"But how did you know I'd be on this train?"

"I didn't.  I've been here for hours looking for the right train."

"Oh Derbs, you chump, that's so lovely.  Thank you.  I couldn't wait to see
you either.  It will be fun to travel together."

They talked excitedly, both boys finding it difficult to keep their hands
off one another and to keep quiet enough so as not to wake the clergyman.

"Do you think he would wake up if I sucked your cock, Mala?  I'd be quiet."

"I think he might," whispered Martin, "because I know I'd need to make a
lot of noise."

When they reached Branksome-le-Bourne Stephen realised that there was no
way to get to the house.  "I came on my bicycle.  I didn't stop to think
there'd be two of us."

"Never mind, I'll have my box sent up and you can take me on the cycle,"
said Martin.

So once again, Martin found that he was wrapped between Stephen's strong
arms and he leaned back into the comforting shield of his chest.  Stephen
laboured his way up the hill, panting and perspiring, Martin thinking that
all journeys should be as pleasant and unpredictable as this one had been.

The novel mode of arrival amused Chilvers when he greeted them at the door.

"His lordship is very tired, Mr Chilvers, could we have a tray for lunch in
an hour or so?  We'll ring when we're hungry," said Stephen.

Stephen practically propelled Martin upstairs and tore at his shirt.  In an
instant they were naked and on the bed, Stephen grinding their erect cocks
together as he kissed Martin hard.

"I haven't touched myself for three days, Mala, I think this is going to be
rough."  Martin did not reply audibly as he had his face buried in
Stephen's black armpit, "And I haven't washed for two days.  I was saving
it for you, Mala.  I became quite sweaty on the bicycle too."

"Fuck me, Derbs," said Martin at last, but open me up first; I don't want
it to hurt.  I'll get on top of you to keep you in hand."

Stephen though that this was a good plan and began by kissing Martin's
buttocks and hole, saying how sweet he tasted.  He worked his tongue in,
trying to copy the techniques of Douglas Owens.  He must have been
effective because Martin was moaning with pleasure and reaching backward in
an endeavour to press Stephen's face in more.

Next the olive oil and Stephen's fingers were employed and soon the ragged
mess that was Martin was pronounced ready.  As promised, Stephen laid on
his back with his enormous cock oiled and at attention.  Martin straddled
him and lined matters up, keeping one hand pressed down on Stephen in case
he tried to thrust brutally upwards.  With a wince, a grimace, a sigh and a
gasp, Martin slid slowly down on the pole until his balls were resting on
Stephen's stomach.  He opened his eyes to see a mixture of lust and
concentration on Stephen's face.

He slowly began to bob up and down, using his legs like springs and Stephen
thrust his hips upwards to meet him.  Martin's balls and cock were bouncing
wildly and his hands were all over Stephen's chest.  Occasionally he would
reach behind just to touch Stephen's slicked cock as it entered and
withdrew from his greatly stretched sphincter.  Stephen now grabbed him by
the waist and was lifting him up and down, taking control of the pace.
Martin's tongue was lolling out of his mouth and he was drooling.  Stephen
too was incoherent or saying filthy, vile things in his passion.

He suddenly flipped Martin over on his back, with his cock still deep
inside.  He pounded him so hard that Martin found that he had
spilled. Still he continued and now had lifted Martin off the bed and he
stood with Martin's arms around his neck, but otherwise supporting him only
on his cock. It took only a couple of thrusts in this awkward but, to
Martin's mind, delightfully intimate, embrace for Stephen to spill, which
he did, for what seemed half a minute, with Martin at rest and impaled on
the base of Stephen's cock.

Martin pushed back Stephen's drenched hair.  "Well, that was and A+ for
physics, Mr Knight. Are we going to stand like this all day?"

"I hope so. I'm still hard inside you, Mala."

"Yes, I can feel."

"I'm sorry you spilled.  I really wanted to suck you.  Do you think you
have another one in you?"

"I think maybe I do," said Martin, squirming in delight on Stephen's still
hard pole.

Stephen set Martin down on the floor and slowly withdrew his cock.  "Bend
over I want to see."  Martin exposed his ravaged hole, which has not
contracted. "It looks beautiful," said Stephen as he turned him to the pier
glass and with the aid of one of Martin's ivory-backed hand mirrors showed
it to him.

He fetched the Chinese stopper from the Soho box, which was now kept at
Croome, and said, "Put this in to keep all my seed inside you.  It will
keep you opened up for when I fuck you this afternoon.  Do you want to?"
Martin's eyes were shining as Stephen oiled up the instrument and tenderly
inserted it in his rectum.  Stephen then turned his attention to Martin's
cock and balls.  After a good wash with his tongue between his spread legs,
he took Martin into his mouth and brought him to hardness once again.  He
varied the actions and the pace, Martin not quite knowing what to expect,
but it was all delightful.

After quite a long time Martin said, "I don't think I can do it again,
Derby; you'll be getting tired."

"Yes, you can, Mala. I need you to and I'm not tired."  Martin tried harder
and just as he thought there may be success in sight, Stephen reached
between his legs and slapped the Chinese plug.  Martin felt a jolt.  He
slapped it again and again.  He was sucking with no hands, Martin now
holding his head, so Stephen cupped Martin's aching balls with one hand and
slapped the plug with the other.  Martin spilled and both of them made sure
that Stephen swallowed it all.  They fell apart, panting and laughing.
"Welcome home, Mala.  Let's have a bath."

When Chilvers brought in their luncheon about three o'clock, Martin
detained him and discussed their plans for the holiday break.  "Chilvers I
think we should go down to Bournemouth and see his lordship, probably
tomorrow.  What do you think, Stephen?"  Stephen agreed.  "Then I'd like to
have Mr and Mrs Sachs to stay.  If they can come, who else should we
invite?"

"Might I suggest your aunt, sir and Mr Antony and Miss Sophia?  Could The
Plun?I mean Mr Craigth be asked, sir?  William could attend him, your
lordship."

"What about your friend from school- Christopher?" asked Martin.

"I would like to invite him on some occasion, but he is up north visiting
his parents.  I say, could I invite someone else?" replied Stephen.

"Who?'

"Selby-Keam.  I've told you about him."

"I thought you wrote that nobody liked him."

"That's true, but it's not his fault.  I feel very sorry for him.  I'll
tell you later."

"Well that sounds excellent; maybe for next weekend, Chilvers?  I'd like to
go up to London for a few days too.  Would you like that, Stephen?"

"Yes, very much.  Could Mr Chilvers come with us?" asked Stephen.

"Could you be spared at Croome for two or three days, Chilvers?" asked
Martin.

"Oh yes sir, Paul or Michael can stand in for me, sir.  I would enjoy
London again.  I will telegraph ahead to make the house ready when you
decide, sir."

The boys were sitting by the fire.  Stephen was reading The House of Mirth,
but found he kept rereading the same lines.  He put the volume down.
"Mala?" He said.  Martin looked up.  "Christopher Tennant is a really fine
fellow."

"Yes he must be from what you said."

"He doesn't know about us-well not yet, that's another reason why I didn't
want him to visit.  He thinks I've got a sweetheart of a different kind
here at Croome.  I hope you don't mind."  Martin pondered on whether he
liked being Stephen's sweetheart and decided he did.

"You see he's very keen on girls and has pictures of them and he, well,
sort of looks up to me as a ladies' man, if you know what I mean."

Martin did know what he meant and smiled to himself, imagining how
Stephen's swaggered and how the boys would worship him as a hero and how
Stephen's self-esteem would lap it up.  "Well how are you going to tell him
that your sweetheart is chap not a lass?  What will he think of you then?"

"I'll have to tell him.  It's not fair to him or to you, he just assumed,
you see."

"And you just happened to make eyes at all the girls in Blandford Forum?"
teased Martin, pretending to be cross.

"Well, we do go to the pub of a Wednesday and the lasses do like to look at
me and on Wednesday nights?well-Chris didn't know how to 'masturbate'
-that's Latin for pleasuring yourself-and he sort of asked me and I thought
he needed help; you see his father is a doctor and is very strict an told
him he would go blind and things like that and he had got himself into a
dreadful state and I thought it best if I?"

"I see, Derby; you've been sucking him off like The Plunger and me." said
Martin.

"No, not that, just other things-I wouldn't make him do anything like that;
he likes girls and that wouldn't be right.  You're not furious with me are
you, Mala?"

"Well I might be," said Martin looking at Stephen sternly and quite aware
of his transparency, "You will have to tell me some of the things you've
been doing together of a Wednesday night and the curriculum for future
Wednesday nights and then you might have to show me exactly what you've
been doing."

Stephen saw he was being teased and relaxed with a big grin. "I'll start
with masturbation technique?" and so he did.  After a rigorous lesson he
fell to talking about Christopher and what a good friend he'd been and
Martin quickly warmed to him and suggested that they might all masturbate
and compare techniques if he ever came to Croome.

"What about this other fellow, Selby-Keam?  Why are you asking him down?"
asked Martin.

Stephen launched into the story of the essay and the violet ink and then
said, "I've been sitting next to him.  He doesn't like Mingis either but
has to be nice to him because his father is a school governor.  Mingis
strokes his hair with his ugly hands and pinches his cheeks and I suspect
he's being doing things to him after class.  The fellow's too frightened to
do anything about it and he has no friends because of it.  I think that's
wrong.  He sort of looks up to me because I'm not frightened of Mingis and
I think he was actually pleased that he failed his essay.  Could we help
him, I don't want to let him down."

Martin had put his arm around Stephen as he talked.  "You're a good fellow,
Stephen.  Those boys look up to you.  I look up to you.  I wish I could be
half as good as you are."  Stephen had the decency to look abashed and
Martin kissed him.


At Bournemouth they found William much as he was a few weeks before.  He
showed them a fine new portrait he had done of Dr Alexander.  The doctor
was posed in a kilt against a Scottish background with a tiny stag visible
on a distant crag and there was a hunting lodge modelled on the one they
proposed to sell.

"I propose that half the sale price be reinvested by Sachs and that a
quarter should go to Stephen's bathrooms and the remaining quarter to some
modernisation of the farming," said William.  "What do you say?"

The boys agreed and Stephen unrolled his plans, which they looked at.  They
decided that they would build four pairs of bathrooms as experiments across
the three villages, with one of them being for Miss Tatchell's
cottage. Stephen had some ideas for the modernisation, especially in the
use of artificial fertilisers.  He also had plans for the dairy farm, but
was pinning his hopes on the son of the tenant rather than his old father.
The brothers gave him permission to work with Blake.

"Have you thought about what I said about adoption, Stephen?" asked
William.

"Yes, William.  I'd be honoured to be your ward.  Thank you.  I have
already told my stepfather and my principal."

"Well, I think you should kiss your new papa and your new uncle," he said
in amusement.  "Kiss your new nephew, Martin."  The kisses were exchanged.

"I have a present for you Stephen." Martin said and handed over a box he'd
brought with him.  Stephen looked inside and drew out a cloth object.

"It is a bicycle jockey's strap, made in Boston in the United States.
Sportsmen wear them to stop their privates jiggling about.  I've got pairs
for the Owens brothers too."

Of course Stephen had to be stripped and, after puzzling out how the straps
went, he was squeezed into it.  "It's very tight, isn't it," said Martin.
They all ran their hands over the rough material and snapped the straps on
Stephen's cheeks.

"Oh look," said William, "he's ruining it already, look how he has leaked
into the fabric.  You can't return it to Austen Reed's now, Martin," said
William with amusement.

"Turn around and bend down so I can see your arse."  Stephen obliged.
William picked up a paintbrush and gently stroked Stephen's crack with the
soft camel's hair.  Stephen sighed and then struck some poses in front of
the looking glass while the other two admired him.

Suddenly there was a knock and the doors were opened and the tea was
brought in by an astonished servant.  Quickly William made like an artist
with his brush on a nearby canvas saying, "Mr Knight, if you want to be
captured as a Greek statue, you must stand perfectly still or I can't
sketch you."

The maid left and they burst into giggles.  The day ended pleasantly with
Stephen and Martin then demonstrating how Martin-'the sailors' friend'-had
been abused so vilely in Cannes, improvising where Martin's memory was
failing.  After many humorous episodes, Stephen finally spent his seed
between Martin's soft thighs which William licked clean, also licking under
the ersatz sailor's foreskin while Stephen himself pretended to be lifting
Martin's watch and stealing his money.

To be continued?

Thanks for reading.  If you have any comments or questions, Henry and I
would love to hear from you.

Just send them to farmboy5674@yahoo.com and please put N O B in the subject
line.