"It's worth L40 a year for four years," said I, understanding very imperfectly the drift of these remarks, but pleased at least to find I had succeeded in impressing my fellow-clerks.

"Ah, so much?—they can't treat cases like yours for nothing. When are you going in?"

"In September. It's a splendid place—five hundred fellows there."

"So many! It's rather sad to think about, isn't it, Hodges? Five hundred! What a lot of trouble there is in the world, to be sure!"

"I can't say I shall be sorry—I know one or two chaps there already."

"Very likely, if it runs in the family at all."

"What runs?" said I, not taking him.

Mr Evans tapped his forehead.

"Never mind," said he, "it's not your fault. I expect four years will do marvels with you. We'll come and see you sometimes, on visiting days."

"Ah, I don't suppose there are visiting days, except for parents," said I.

"I know one or two of the staff, though," said one of the party. "I shall be able to hear about you from them."

"Oh, all right," said I. "I hope things here will go on all right when I'm at school."

"School?" said Mr Evans, stooping with his hands on his knees, and looking into my face. "Did you say school? Is Low Heath a school?"

"Rather. What did you think it was?"

"We thought it was an idiot asylum," said Mr Evans. And a shout of laughter at my expense confirmed his statement.

I did not deign to explain; and for the few days I remained at the office I made no further reference to my academic triumphs, though my comrades rarely failed to make merry over the asylum.

At the end of a fortnight I began to come to myself, and realise that I had not exactly borne my honours blushingly. And I was glad when my mother proposed a week or two at the seaside, to brace up before plunging into the ocean of public school fife.

My guardian, who had of late grown fairly civil to me, in the prospect of getting me off his hands, was good enough to release me from the office; and I shook the dust of that detestable place off my feet with unfeigned thankfulness.

Mr Evans wanted to get up a farewell supper for me, and I was very near allowing myself the honour, when I accidentally discovered that all the provisions were to be ordered in my name and the bill sent to me. Whereupon I declined the invitation with thanks, and regretted that a previous engagement would prevent my having the pleasure of joining their party.

Once in the quiet of the seaside, with my mother for companion, I recovered my proper frame of mind, and began to take sober views of the prospect before me.

I wrote to Tempest—rather a cocky letter, perhaps, but one full of delight at the prospect of joining him at Low Heath, and claiming his patronage and support.

His reply was characteristic to say the least.

"The examiners for exhibitions here are the biggest muffs out. They plough the only men worth having and let in no end of scugs. The consequence is. Low Heath is packed full of asses, as you'll find out. I'm glad they let you in, though, as it will be sport having you here and making you sing small. I do hope, though, it won't get out that you've been coached by a female, or there'll be a terrific lark. I'm getting quite a dab at photography, and shall have my camera up next term. Mind you get the right-shaped boiler, or I shall cut you. The kids are to be stopped wearing round tops like their betters, so you'd best cut yours square. Brown was too 'cute to try for an exhibition. It's bad enough for him to be a day boy, but it would be a jolly sight worse to be an exhibitioner as well. When you come up, mind you're not to collar me. It's bad form for a kid to collar a senior. Wait till I speak to you, or else get some chap to bring you and introduce you. Fellows who shirk form get jolly well lammed; so you'd better go easy at first. Bring plenty of pocket-money, and some thick boots for kicking chaps back.—Yours truly, H.T. Tempest."

This letter both gratified and perturbed me. It was pleasing to be hailed as one of the inner circle of a fellow like Tempest; but it made me suspect that I should not be taken into the fold at my own valuation, but that of my betters, which in a public school is a very different thing. The little details, too, about dress and manners rather startled me. For supposing I had gone up not knowing these things, what mistakes I should have made! Suppose, for instance, I had gone up in a billycock with a round instead of a square top; or suppose I had hailed Tempest without his first speaking to me, what would have become of me? I trembled to think of it, and was glad to feel I had a friend at court who would see I didn't "shirk form."

What made me still more uneasy was the reference to my connection with a girl's school. The prize list had made it appear, to any one who did not know better, that I was a pupil from Miss Steele's, High School, Fallowfield. Suppose this list should get into the hands of any of the fellows, or that some other new boy should carelessly leave his copy about! I wished I had had more sense than to mention the High School at all. This came of my chivalrous desire, said I to myself, to give Miss Steele and her principal the benefit of my distinction. Now I might have to thank them for endless trouble. I did my best to hope the worst would not happen.

"Fellows never read prize lists of exams, they've not been in for," thought I; "and when they have been in, they never trouble themselves about any one's name but their own. Why, I haven't even noticed where a single other chap comes from. They may all be girls' schools, for all I know. It's not likely any one has noticed mine."

And to avoid all accident I dropped mine into the fire, and had to stand my mother's reproaches for destroying a document she had intended to treasure till her dying day.

As the time for my going to Low Heath approached, I began to turn my attention seriously to my trousseau.

My first care was to get the square-topped boiler, and a rare job I had to procure it. None of the hatters in Fallowfield knew of such a shape in young gents' hats; and the shopkeepers in Wynd, whither I went over on purpose, were equally benighted. My mother, too, protested that she had never heard of such a kind of hat, and that it would be hideous when I got it.

That was no fault of mine. It was the Low Heath form, and that was enough for me.

At length I heard of a hat of the kind at Deercut, five miles off, and walked thither. It had been made, said the hatter, for a young sporting party who attended to a gentleman's stables, and knew a thing or two. He had got into trouble, it was explained, and was "doing his time on the circular staircase," which I took to mean the treadmill. That was the reason the article had been thrown on the maker's hands. It seemed just the thing Tempest described. The top was as flat as the lid of a work-box; indeed, it was precisely like a somewhat broad-brimmed chimney-pot-hat cut down to half height; and after a little pinching in at the sides fitted me beautifully. The maker was delighted to be able to suit me, and smiled most graciously when I paid him my five shillings and walked out of the shop with my junior exhibitioner's "boiler" on my head.

I set down to envy or ignorance the jeers of the village youths who encountered me on my way home. Some people will laugh at anything they do not understand. My mother's protests, when she saw me, however, were not so easy to dispose of.

"Why, Tommy, it makes you look like a common cheap-jack," said she. "It's not a gentleman's hat at all. I'm sure they would not tolerate it at Low Heath."

"On the contrary," said I, "it's the form there. You might say the same of mortar boards or blue-coat dresses. It all depends on the school."

"But are you sure Tempest was not exaggerating?"

"Tempest is the most particular chap about form I know," said I.

"Well, dear, promise me you won't wear this dreadful hat till you go to school. Wear your nice cap that suits you so well till then."

I humoured her. Indeed, I was a little shy myself of meeting Mr Evans, or any of that set, in my new garb. They would be sure to pass their nasty personal remarks upon it. It would be better to preserve it in its virgin purity for my entrance to Low Heath.

I took the precaution to write to Tempest and mention that I had got it, appending to my letter a rough sketch of the hat, so that, if there were anything wrong about it, he would be able to correct me.

He wrote back in great good spirits.

"Just the thing, kid. It'll take the shine out of all the boilers up here. Did I tell you about gloves? The knowing ones mostly sport lavender; but the outsiders don't wear any, except at the first call- over in the term, when of course it's compulsory. One muff last term got pretty well lammed because he only had two-button gloves instead of six. I believe one or two others were just as bad, only they didn't get kotched; but it was a lesson to them. I wonder if young Brown will be up to the tips, or whether he'll turn up in black boots instead of tan. I sha'n't write to him, because he's a town-boy, and it would be low. Ta-ta. Don't forget to wear your collar outside your great-coat, or I sha'n't speak to you.—Yours, till then, H.T."

I kept this letter carefully from my mother. I knew it would only distress her, and suggest all sorts of difficulties. For, dear soul, it would be so hard to explain to her the exigencies of school form. What would have become of me without old Tempest? I should have come utterly to grief, I felt. My only fear was that he might have forgotten something which it was as important I should be made aware of as the hat, or the six-button lavender gloves, or the tan boots.

I am afraid I must plead guilty to a little duplicity in the matter of purchasing these highly necessary articles of my kit. I had to persuade my mother to allow me to choose my own gloves and boots; and expended the money in such a manner that I could show her an ordinary pair of each, while the special articles were carefully concealed in my box. She thought the cheap black shoes and dog-skin gloves I paraded before her dear at the price; but she little knew that I had safely stowed away an elegant pair of light lavender gloves and a pair of tan boots of the most fashionable appearance.

I had some difficulty about the former. For six-button gloves for young gents was not a "stock-line" in any of the shops. I had finally to get a lady's twelve-button pair and cut them down to suit my requirements. The tan boots were more easily procured, although it grated somewhat against my feelings to be sent over to the ladies' side of the shop to get them, as they were not kept for boys on the men's side. As it was, I feared they did not come up to Tempest's description of "thick boots for kicking back in," but they were the thickest I could procure.

At length my preparations were all complete. My mother had been an angel about them all. She had let me have my own way, and forborne criticism when my taste—or rather my conjecture as to what the Low Heath form might demand—ran counter to hers. On this account she made no remark about my check shirts, or the steel chain which, after the most approved fashion, came out from under the side of my waistcoat and supported the weight of my keys in my side trouser pocket. I confess it was an inconvenient arrangement. It was impossible to unlock my portmanteau without either half undressing, or kneeling down so as to bring the end of the chain on a level with the keyhole, or else standing the portmanteau on a chair or table to bring it up to the key. But it was undoubtedly the smart way of carrying keys. So the tailor said, and so one or two friends in whom I confided also assured me.

I was really quite glad when I had sat down on the floor beside my trunk for the last time, and knew I should not have to perform with the key again till I was unpacking at Low Heath.

My handbag, for certain reasons, I carried with me unlocked. It contained, to tell the truth, the hat and gloves and tan boots and other articles de rigueur which I did not exactly like to start off in, but which I was resolved to don during the journey, so as to dawn on the Low Heath horizon altogether "up to Cocker," as Tempest would say.

At the last moment my spirits failed me a little. I had been so taken up with my own plans that I had almost forgotten I was leaving my mother solitary, and turning my back on the sunshine of affection which during the last year had come to be such a natural and soothing feature of my surroundings.

"Don't forget the old home, Tommy," she said. "God bless you and keep you good, and innocent, and honest! Don't be led astray by bad companions, but try to help others to be good. And, Tommy dear, don't try to be a man just yet—be the dear boy you are—don't try to be anything else, and—" But here the train began to move, and there was barely time for a farewell kiss.

What she said ran rather in my head, especially the last exhortation, which I was sorry she had uttered. For I was quite sure she was referring to my nervous desire to do everything correctly at the new school; and it grieved me that she should speak of it as trying to be something I was not.

Of course I would remember all she said. There was not much fear of my being led astray; it was much more likely that I, as an exhibitioner, would be looked up to by some of the ordinary small boys to show them a lead. What with Tempest to befriend me at headquarters, and my prestige as a scholar, and the fact that I knew a pretty good deal about school already, it was as likely as not I might be instrumental in helping one or two lame dogs over the stiles of their first term.

My only travelling companion was a motherly sort of person of the farmer class, who eyed me affectionately—too affectionately to please me—and attempted to condole with me on the sorrow of leaving home.

"Never mind, dearie," said she—Cheek! for a stranger to call a chap "dearie."

"You'll be a bit lonely at first, so you will; but you'll get used to it, and it won't be so long to holiday time, and then you'll see mamma again."

I wished she wouldn't. She misunderstood me. I wasn't thinking about the holidays at all. The fact was, I was thinking about my boots and hat in the bag, and wondering when I should put them on.

Bother it! Why should I mind her or her remarks? Some other new chap might get in at the next station, and I couldn't change before him. I'd better get myself up to form now, and so be ready.

So, to the old lady's surprise, I proceeded to take off my shoes and put on the thick tan boots in their place. She watched me in mingled admiration and surprise—no doubt the fresh yellow was very imposing, and made me look as if I was shod in gold. But the High Street at Low Heath would presently be sparkling with a hundred pairs of such boots, so what mattered an old lady's temporary astonishment? It was the same about the hat—indeed worse. For at the sight of that particularly sporting adornment, she threw up her hands and exclaimed,—

"What a funny little fellow, to be sure!"

I tried to look grave, and as if I had not heard her, but I felt very conscious of the hat all the same, and only hoped another new boy would get in presently, so that she might see that a thing might be the fashion and yet she not know it.

I was a good deal perplexed about the lavender gloves. Of course, I had not to wear these until call-over that afternoon, or possibly next morning. But I might as well try them on now. And the difficulty was that it was very difficult to button the six buttons all the way up without baring my arm half-way at least to the elbow. I made a feeble attempt, but it presented so many difficulties, and evidently so seriously perturbed my companion, that I abandoned the attempt, resolving to try them on under the bedclothes that night.

At the first station a youth of about my own age, with a hat-box and bag, got into the carriage. Was he, I wondered, a Low Heath chap? Evidently not. He wore a straw hat, and boots of the ordinary colour, and—Whew! what a lucky thing I had not forgotten it! He wore his white collar inside the velvet of his great-coat. And so should I have continued to do, had not the sight of him called Tempest's injunction to wear it outside to my memory. I availed myself of the next tunnel to rectify this serious omission, and had the satisfaction, when we emerged into daylight, of noticing that neither of my fellow-travellers appeared to pay much heed to the change. They both stared at me now and then; but the boy evidently grew tired of that, and curled himself up in a corner of the carriage and read a Boy's Own Paper.

I presently followed his example, and what with reading, and speculating on my coming entry into Low Heath, and an occasional thought for the little home at Fallowfield, the time went quickly by.

"Is this Low Heath station?" inquired I, as the train began to slacken speed.

"Yes," said the boy, regarding me from head to foot with evidently increased curiosity. "Are you a new kid at the school?"

"Yes," said I.

"Oh my! What a lark!" said he.

I was glad he thought it so.

"Are you at the school?" inquired I.

"Looks like it," said he, getting together his traps hurriedly, and bounding from the carriage with what I fancied was a broad grin on his face.

So here I was at last!



CHAPTER SEVEN.

COMING DOWN A PEG OR TWO.

I had half hoped Tempest would be down at the station to meet me. But he was not: and I had to consider on the spur of the moment how to make my entry into Low Heath.

Either I might walk, as I noticed a good many of the fellows who got out of the train did, or I might charter a private fly, as a few of the swells did, or I might go up in one of the school omnibuses, which was evidently the popular mood of transportation. I was so earnestly desirous to do the correct thing, that I was nearly doing nothing at all, and finally found myself standing almost alone on the platform with the last omnibus ready to start.

Surely they might make some arrangement, thought I, for meeting exhibitioners and taking them up. How did I know this omnibus was not a town-boys' vehicle, or one dedicated to the service of the inferior boys? Perhaps it would be better—

"Right away, Jimmy; off you go!" called one of the youths on the knifeboard, whom I recognised as my late travelling companion.

At this point I decided I would risk it, and go up by omnibus after all.

"Wait!" I called. "I'm coming too."

"Fire away, Jimmy. Cut along!" shouted the youth. They could not have heard me, surely. The omnibus was actually moving!

"Hi!" called I, beginning to follow, bag in hand; "wait for me."

"Lamm it on, Jimmy," was the delighted cry from the knifeboard, as a score of heads craned over to witness the chase. The spectacle of an ordinary youth giving chase to an omnibus crowded with roystering schoolboys is probably amusing enough; but when that youth has his white collar outside the collar of his great-coat, and wears brilliant tan boots and a flat-topped billycock, it appears, at least so it seemed to me, to be exceedingly funny for the people on the omnibus.

"Put it on," called one or two, encouragingly; "you're gaining!"

"Forge ahead, Jimmy; here comes the bogey man!" cried another.

"Whip behind!" suggested a third.

"Anybody got a copper for the poor beggar?" asked a fourth.

By a desperate effort, at last I succeeded in coming up with the runaway omnibus, when to my disgust I discovered that it was one of those forbidding vehicles of which the step disappears when the door is closed. So that I had nothing to hold on to, still less to climb on to; and to continue to run with my nose at the door, like a well-trained carriage dog, suited neither my wind nor my dignity.

So I gave up the chase and dropped behind, covered with dust and perspiration, amid frantic cheers from the knifeboard and broad grins from the passengers on the pavement.

In such manner, I, an exhibitioner and a living exponent of the latest "form," entered Low Heath! I was almost more grieved for the school than for myself. Those fellows on the omnibus evidently didn't know who I was. To-morrow, when they found out, and saw me arm-in-arm with Tempest, they would be sorry for what they had done.

I confess that, as I walked up the steep street, and caught sight at last of the chimneys of the school peeping up over the trees, I half wished myself back at home with my mother. I hadn't expected to feel so lonely. I had indeed looked forward to a little pardonable triumph in being recognised at once as the fellow who had taken the entrance exhibition, and who evidently knew what was what. Of course it was foolish, I told myself, to expect such a thing. Fellows could hardly be expected to know who I was until they were told. Still it was a little—just a little—disappointing, and I could not help feeling hurt.

I tramped on, till presently I came to the bridge, and loitered for a moment to rest and watch the boats flitting about below. There went a four, smartly manned by youngsters no older than myself. There lolled a big fellow in a canoe. There swished by a senior in a skiff, calling on the four-oar to get out of the way as he passed. There, too, stood a master in flannels, with the Oxford Blue on his straw, talking to a group of boys. I wish I could have overheard what they were saying. Perhaps they were discussing the merits of some of the new boys.

I strolled on, passing on the way inquisitive stragglers who stared hard at me, till I came to where the road skirts the cricket field. Here, at a broken paling, I stood a moment and glanced in. Fellows were bowling and batting at the nets, others were strolling arm-in-arm up and down, hailing new arrivals; others were enjoying a little horseplay; others were critically examining the last season's pitch; others, impatient of the seasons, were punting about a brand-new football.

How out of it I was! and yet how sure I felt that if some of those fellows only guessed who was on the other side of the palings they would feel interested!

I strolled on farther, and began now to pass the outbuildings. There was a lecture room, empty at present. Should I be there to-morrow? I wondered, answering to my name and seeing fellows open their eyes as they heard it.

There was the gymnasium, I supposed—the place presided over by the drill master whom Tempest so much detested. I meant to back Tempest up in that feud.

Ah, there was the Lion Gate, standing open to receive me. Little I had expected, when once before I entered it on my way to examination, that I should so soon be coming back, so to speak, in triumph like this.

It took some little self-persuasion, I must confess, to feel that it really was a triumph. I did think Tempest might have been on the look- out for me. I did not know where to go, or of whom to inquire my way. The boys I met either took no notice of me at all, or else stared so rudely at my hat and boots that I could not bring myself to accost them. At length I was beginning to think I had better march boldly to the first master's house I came to, when, as luck would have it, I stumbled up against my old travelling companion, who, having safely arrived a quarter of an hour before, was now prowling about on the look-out for old acquaintances.

"Please," said I, "would you mind telling me the way to Mr Sharpe's house?"

"Are you a Sharper then?" he inquired. "My word! what are we coming to? Why didn't you come up by the 'bus?"

"I tried to," said I; "you wouldn't stop."

"Jim's horses were a bit shy," said he, with a grin. "They can't be held in when they see a moke. You should have got in quietly, without their spotting you."

I didn't like this fellow. He appeared to me to think he was funny when he was not.

"Do you know if Tempest has come?" said I, hoping to impress him a little.

"Who?"

"Tempest—Harry Tempest. He's at Sharpe's too."

"What sort of looking chap is he?" demanded the youth, who, I suspected, could have told me without any detailed description.

"He's one of the seniors," said I; "he was in the reserve for the Eleven last term."

"Oh, that lout? I hope you aren't a pal of his. That would about finish you up. If you want him, you'd better go and look for him. I don't know whether every snob in the place has come up or not."

And he departed in chase of a friend whom he had just sighted.

This was depressing. Not that I believed what he said about Tempest. But I had hoped that my acquaintance with my old schoolmate would redound to my own dignity, whereas it seemed to do nothing of the kind.

Presently I encountered a very small boy, of chirpy aspect, whom I thought I might safely accost.

"I say," said I, "which is Mr Sharpe's house?"

"Over there," said he, pointing to an ivy-covered house at some little distance higher up the street. Then, regarding me attentively, he added, "I say, you'll get in a jolly row if he sees you in that get-up."

"Oh," said I, feeling that the youngster was entitled to an explanation, "I'm an exhibitioner."

"A who? All I know is he's down on chaps playing the fool. You'd better cut in on the quiet before they bowl you out in that thing," said he, pointing to my hat.

That thing! True, I had not observed many hats like it, so far, at Low Heath; but that was probably because I had not encountered any other fellow-exhibitioner. Tempest knew more about the form than this kid.

"Thanks," said I. "Mr Sharpe will know who I am."

"Oh, all right," said he; "don't say I didn't tell you, that's all."

"I say," said I, feeling that enough had been said on a matter on which we evidently misunderstood each other, "do you know Tempest?"

"Rather. He's in our house. You'll get it pretty hot from him if you cheek him."

"Oh, I know him well; he's an old chum."

The boy laughed incredulously.

"He'd thank you if he heard you say so. Oh my! fancy Tempest— Hullo, I say, there he is. Cut away, kid, before he sees you." And the youth set me a prompt example.

I was sorry he had not remained to witness the fact that I was not quite the outsider he took me for.

Tempest was strolling across the road, arm-in-arm with a friend. He certainly was not got up in the "form" which he had prescribed for me. He wore a straw hat on the back of his head, and boots of unmistakable blackness. But then, though an exhibitioner himself once, he had now attained to the dignity of a senior, and was probably exempt from the laws binding on new boys.

As he approached I crossed the road to meet him, full of joy at the prospect of encountering at least one friend, and marching under his protection into my new quarters. But I was doomed to a slight disappointment. For though for a moment, when he looked up, I fancied he recognised me, he did not discontinue his conversation with his friend, but drew him out into the middle of the road. They seemed to be enjoying a joke between them. His companion looked round once or twice at me, but Tempest, who was looking quite flushed, apparently did not take me in, and walked on, looking the other way.

It was a little shock to me, or would have been had I not remembered his friendly warning about the etiquette of a junior not accosting a senior till the senior accosted him. I wished he had spoken to me, for just then his help would have been particularly patronising. As it was, I was tantalised by seeing him pass by close to me, and yet being unable, without "shirking form" in a reprehensible way, to bring myself to his notice.

In due time I reached Mr Sharpe's house. To my dismay the door stood wide open, and the hall was crowded with fellows claiming their luggage as it was being deposited by the railway van. As I arrived there was an ominous silence, in the midst of which I stood on the step, and carefully rung the bell marked, not "servants," but "visitors." No one came, so after a due interval, and amid the smiles of the onlookers, I mustered up resolution to ring again, rather louder. This time I had not to wait long. A person dressed as a sort of butler, very red in the face, emerged from a green baize door at the end of the passage and advanced wrathfully.

"Which of you young gents keeps ringing the bell?" demanded he. "He's to be made an example of this time. Oh, it was you, was it?" said he, catching sight of me.

"Yes," said I. "Is Mr Sharpe at home?"

"At home?" demanded the official, redder in the face than ever. "You seem to be pretty much at home." Then, apparently struck by my appearance, he pulled himself up and honoured me with a long stare in which all the assembled boys joined.

"Who is it?"

"One of the porters from the station, I should say, from the looks of him," suggested a boy.

"Whoever it is, don't you ring that visitors' bell—do you hear?" said the man-servant. "If you want anything, go round to the side door and don't interfere with the young gentlemen."

"But I'm a new boy," said I. "I'm—I'm an exhibitioner;" at which there was a great roar of laughter, which even my self-satisfaction could hardly construe into jubilation.

I began to have a horrible suspicion that I had committed some great faux pas by ringing the visitors' bell, and blushed consciously, to the increased amusement of my fellow "Sharpers."

"Can I see Mr Sharpe?" I inquired, thinking it best to take the bull by the horns.

"Can't you wait?" said the servant. "Do you suppose the master has nothing to do but run out and see—wild Indians?" Here followed another laugh at my expense. "He'll see you quite soon enough."

Here a shove from behind precipitated me into the bosom of the speaker, who returned me with thanks, and before I could apologise, into the hands of the sender. Thence I found myself passed on by a side impetus to a knot of juveniles, who, not requiring my presence, passed me on to a senior standing by, who shot me back to a friend, who sent me forward among the boxes into the arms of the matron, who indignantly hustled me up the passage, where finally I pulled up short in the grasp of a gentleman who at that moment emerged from the green baize door.

In the confusion I had lost both my hat and my presence of mind. I was far too confused to observe who the new-comer was, and far too indignant to care. All that I called to my mind as I reeled into his clutches was Tempest's directions about kicking back, which accordingly I proceeded to do, with all the vigour of which my new tan boots were capable.

Mr Sharpe suffered this assault meekly for a second or two, then he held me out stiffly at arm's length, like a puppy in a fit, and demanded,—

"What do you mean, sir, by behaving like this?"

I was bound to admit that it was a natural inquiry from a person whose shins had been considerably barked by my new boots. I felt as if I owed Mr Sharpe an apology.

"Please," said I, "I didn't mean to do it. The boys shoved me, and I didn't know where I was going, really, sir."

Mr Sharpe seemed inclined to believe me. He was a florid-looking, spectacled young man, with sandy whiskers, and a grip—oh that grip!— that could have lifted me easily over the Lion Gate.

"Boys," said he, "let us have none of this nonsense, or I must set a house theme. Is Mrs Smiley here?"

Mrs Smiley, looking anything but the "moral" of her name, appeared in due course.

"Mrs Smiley, will you please take charge of this new boy and keep him out of trouble? Run away with Mrs Smiley, my little man; and you, boys, as soon as you have claimed your boxes, clear out till register bell."

What I did my ears deceive me? Was I, an exhibitioner, a scholar who had come up to Low Heath in all the eclat of the latest "form," the friend of Tempest, the fellow who had made things too hot for himself at Dangerfield—was I, I say, to be handed over to a sort of washer-womanly person to be kept out of mischief, and called "my little man" in the presence of the whole house? Was this my triumphant entry then?

No sooner had Mr Sharpe retired, than greetings of "My little man," "Spiteful Sarah," "Run along with his Smiley, then," beset me on all sides. I would fain have explained and corrected any wrong impression, but they only laughed when I tried; finally, when Mrs Smiley grabbed at my hand and walked me off the scene like a baby, my humiliation was complete.

Mrs Smiley, who was far too busy with the young gentlemen's luggage to relish the extra duty put upon her by Mr Sharpe, had a very summary way of dealing with cases of my kind.

"Sit down there, and don't move till you're told," said she, pointing to a little three-legged stool in a corner in the box-room.

"But—" began I.

"Hold your tongue; how dare you speak to me?" she retorted.

"I only—"

"Stand in the corner, with your hands behind you, for disobedience," said she.

This was getting serious. The little three-legged stool would not have been exactly luxurious; but to be stood in the corner with my hands behind me by a person of the feminine gender called Smiley, was really too bad. The worst of it was that if I made any further protest I might be smacked in addition, and that possibility I hardly dared risk.

So, rather to my own surprise, I found myself standing in the corner, with my hands at my back, scrutinising a blue and pink rose on the wall- paper, and wondering whether it would not be worth my while to write to the Times about the whole business. I could not help thinking that Mrs Smiley did not hurry herself on my account. I was conscious of box after box being dragged to the front, emptied of its contents and put back, to be removed presently by a porter, who probably looked at me every time he came in, but, I am bound to say, received very little encouragement from my studiously averted head.

After nearly an hour I began to get tired, and the blood of the Joneses began to rise within me. I was seriously meditating mutiny, or at least a definite explanation with Mrs Smiley, when at last she broke silence.

"Now, young gentleman, this way, please."

And she led me to a small comfortable-looking apartment, which I surmised to be her particular sanctum.

"What's your name?"

"Jones," said I.

"Ah—you're the boy who's brought down a rubbishy speckled waistcoat and loud striped shirts—eh?"

"Well, yes," said I.

"Did your mother buy them for you, or did you buy them?"

"I did."

"I can see your mother's a lady by the way she has everything else done. You'll find your own trash just where you put it, in the bottom of your trunk. You will not be allowed to wear it. We expect our boys to dress like young gentlemen, whether they are such or not. What's that in your hand, Jones?"

"My hat," said I, hoping I was coming in for a little credit at last.

"Hat!" Here she was rude enough to laugh. "What made you bring a thing like that here for a hat?"

"But," said I, "I'm an exhibitioner."

"All the more shame on you not dressing like a gentleman. Look at those boots; I am sure your mother did not buy them for you. Take them off at once, sir—and put on your proper ones."

"Aren't they—isn't it the thing, the form, you know, for—"

"Form! Fiddlesticks. The thing at Low Heath is to behave and dress like gentlemen, not like vulgar, public-house potmen," said she, with an access of indignation which surprised me. "To think that you, with a nice mother like yours, should come up here a fright like that! There, put the shoes and hat in the trunk with the speckled waistcoat and shirts, and get yourself up decently, and then I'll speak to you."

I was under the impression she had spoken to me—pretty strongly too. This, then, was the end of my elaborately prepared toilet!

A horrid suspicion began to come over me at last, not only that Tempest had been having a little joke at my expense, but that I had lent myself to it with an alacrity and eagerness which had almost—nay, very nearly wholly—been ridiculous.

What does the reader think?

My further conversation with good Mrs Smiley, after I had, to use her own expression, made myself decent, only tended to confirm the painful impression. I even went to the length of adding, of my own accord, my six-button lavender gloves to the pile of sacrificed finery which strewed the bottom of my trunk. And when in due time a bell rang, and Mrs Smiley said, "There now, go down to call-over, and don't be a silly any more," I obeyed with a meekness and diffidence of which I could hardly have believed myself capable, had I not been quite sure of the fact.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

TEMPEST TALKS TO ME LIKE A FATHER.

As I entered the hall, in which were already assembled most of my fellow "Sharpers," the first idea which occurred to me was that Low Heath was not such a big place after all. I had expected to encounter the whole school, instead of some fifty boys of my own particular house, and it was a relief to me to find that, for the present at any rate, I was to blush before only a limited company.

The next thing that struck me was that these fellows evinced wonderfully little interest in my appearance; which, considering the active interest they had shown in me not long since, was quite a shock. I had made up my mind to be howled at and laughed out of countenance. Instead of which they contented themselves with a half-glance to see who the new- comer was, and then went on talking together as if nothing had happened.

The conceit was already sufficiently knocked out of me to enable me to take this indifference in good part. Possibly when my name was called reference would be made to my exhibition, which would make a few of them look twice at me; but for the present I was glad to be left alone.

At first I could distinguish nobody; but in a little I caught sight of Tempest's head among the seniors of the house. He did not see me, nor did he appear to be looking out for me.

Suddenly some one called "Seats!" an order that was so promptly obeyed that it left me standing alone near the door at which I had entered.

"Seats—can't you hear?" said some one near me. I made promptly for the first empty desk I could see. The youth at the end of the row had his back partly turned, and it was necessary to push vigorously past him to arrive at my destination.

"Look out, you mule!" said he; "you trod on my— Hullo, Sarah, how are you?" and a friendly kick on the shins helped me wonderfully on my way.

It was my old acquaintance of the railway carriage; and next to him was the small youth who had been so terribly concerned about my costume in the morning.

He put his feet up on the desk in front, and gave me the option of climbing over or crawling under. He was about three-quarters my size; but he had such an air of authority about him, that I hardly liked to suggest a third alternative, namely, that he should put down his feet and let me pass. So I climbed over, much to his indignation (which he expressed by sticking a nib into me as I passed).

"I say," he began, "you'll catch it. That's not your desk."

I was aware of that, and devoutly hoped the real owner would not arrive on the scene.

"If Tinker kotches you— Hullo, what have you done with your patent boots?"

"I've changed them," said I; "but do you think Tinker's coming?"

"We'll keep him out if he does—"

Just then one of the seniors on the front form, who had been talking to Tempest, leant back, and said in a loud whisper to the boy at the end of the form in front of ours—

"White, see all the new kids have their gloves on properly."

Gloves? I felt my teeth begin to chatter in my head.

Had I not flung my gloves along with my hat and boots into my trunk, thinking they would not be needed? I had considered them as part of Tempest's little joke. But evidently I had made a fearful mistake. For the senior who had given the admonition was not Tempest at all, but his next neighbour; and the fact that it was not given to me but to a monitor made it clear that, however I had been humbugged over the other details of "form," gloves were the order of the day for new boys at first call-over.

In a panic I rose and tried to go out, with the wild idea of rescuing my gloves from my trunk. But it was impossible to escape. Not only had my companion his feet up more uncompromisingly than ever, but my sudden movement called down upon me general remarks.

"Shut up I sit down, can't you?" said my neighbour. "What are you up to?"

"My gloves—I've—I've left them upstairs."

"Your what?"

"Gloves. I thought it was a mistake about new boys having to wear them, and didn't bring them."

The boy looked grave.

"Oh, you'll catch it! You can't go now. There's Sharpe coming in. Haven't you got any at all?"

"Only my ordinary gloves."

"What colour?"

"Yellow."

"Stick them on then."

"But they've only two buttons."

"Can't be helped. You're bound to catch it, but they're better than nothing."

So, in dire agitation, I drew on my new dog-skin gloves. The smiles of the boys near me I interpreted as a grim recognition that I had "shirked form" and did not know any better. I longed to explain that I did, and that I had not come to Low Heath as ignorant as they supposed. But it was impossible. Mr Sharpe was already in his place, and "register" had begun.

Register, a ceremony with which I was destined to become painfully familiar in time, consisted in the calling over of the names of all the boys in the house, in order of place, by the minor prefect, who took his stand at the side of the master's desk for the purpose. Instead of answering "Here" or "Adsum," in the usual way, the boy whose name was called stood in his place and held up his hand.

I had been so preoccupied with the lack of my six-button lavender gloves and the remarks of my two left-hand neighbours, that I had failed altogether to observe the boy on my right, who now quietly nudged me, and presented to my astonished gaze the serene and serious countenance of Dicky Brown.

"What have you got your gloves on for?" inquired he, as if he had seen me daily since we parted.

"It's the form. Haven't you got any? I say, you'll get in a jolly row," said I, quite delighted to be able to lord it a little over an inferior.

"Why—who told you?"

"Tempest."

"Tempest's a regular humbug. He tried to stuff me up by making me bring a cheese-cutter cap. But I wasn't such a fool as I look."

Alas! it was my turn to colour up. Had Dicky, I wondered, seen my square billycock?

At that moment Tempest's name was called, and we saw our old Dux rise complacently in his seat and hold up his hand.

It was difficult to feel angry with him. He looked so cool and determined, his shoulders were so square, and the year that had elapsed since we met had added three good inches to his stature. It was a feather in a fellow's cap to know Tempest, even if he did have his little joke at one's expense now and then.

I came to the conclusion that Dicky and I must be the only two new boys in the house, for none of the numerous hands, grimy and otherwise, which went up were cased in anything but their native skin.

Presently the register clerk came to an end of his list, and I was beginning to congratulate both myself and Brown on our probable escape from detection when Mr Sharpe said—

"New boys, come forward."

My left-hand neighbour interposed no obstruction now, as, followed by Dicky, I sidled out of my place and advanced along with five other youths to the front. I was conscious of smiles as I went past the desks, some of recognition of the late owner of the tan boots, some of appreciation of my blushes, and others, as I supposed, of the greenness which had led all my companions to commit the fatal error of not appearing in gloves, and of my error, though in a smaller degree, of appearing in bright yellow two-button goods instead of lavender of the regulation half-dozen.

I exchanged glances with Tempest, among others, who looked very serious, and was evidently chagrined that after all his kind trouble on my behalf I should now land myself in this dilemma. Good old Tempest! It wasn't his fault.

"Answer to your—" began Mr Sharpe, when, suddenly catching sight of me, he said—

"Why, sir, what nonsense is this? What do you mean by wearing those gloves?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," I faltered, and felt that not a word of my speech was being lost by the assembled house; "I've left my lavender six-button gloves in my trunk."

Mr Sharpe's mouth curled at the corner in a curious way, and a general titter greeted my explanation from the benches behind.

I was fully convinced now that, after all my care, the very solecism I had planned so carefully to avoid had tripped me up at last.

"Take them off at once, sir, and let me have no more of this foolishness. You are making a bad start. Were you not the boy I had to speak to in the hall this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir. I am sorry I kicked your shins. I hope I didn't hurt much. I thought you were one of the boys."

I am sure I meant no harm by it, but he seemed to regard this as a studied insult, and visited me with his wrath not only for it but for the smiles from the boys behind which accompanied it.

"What is this boy's name?" he inquired severely, looking round.

I wondered who would answer the question; it was evidently not intended for me. It astonished me that Mr Sharpe should not apply at headquarters; I am sure I could have told him. "I think," said a voice which I recognised as Tempest's, "his name is Jones, sir."

Think! Surely Tempest might have had a little more confidence than that.

"Perhaps you will see what you can make of him presently, Tempest. If he has any intelligence at all," (nice, wasn't it, for an exhibitioner?) "you may be able to make him understand some of the rules of the place. If not, I am afraid we shall have to put him down as a silly little boy, and bear with him accordingly. Go to your seat now, sir, and report yourself to Tempest after register."

It was not a very dignified end to the interview. Still, I felt myself lucky to be handed over to the tender mercies of my old comrade, and retired to my place a puzzled but not an amused boy.

What perplexed me most was to notice that Brown and the other new boys who had no gloves at all, and did nothing but answer the questions put to them in the plainest possible way, not only passed muster, but received words of approval and encouragement from the master such as I would have given a great deal to have got myself. But such is life. The fellows who take the most pains and deserve most, get least; and the fellows who have least to boast of receive more than they expect.

I was glad when register was over and the time came for me to have an explanation with Tempest.

"Look here," said the candid youth next to me, "you'd better sit up when you go to Tempest, I can let you know. He's cock of our house this term, and he's not over-tender with idiots, I can let you know."

"What, has he been down on you?" I inquired meekly.

The only reply I got was a touch on the calf which made me exclaim "Oh!" rather more loudly than I should have chosen to do under ordinary circumstances. Luckily the general movement of the class somewhat deadened the sound, and if Mr Sharpe heard me, he did not consider it worth his while to deprive Tempest of the task of elucidating the reason of it.

I kept my man carefully in view, and followed him upstairs into a little study about the size of a commodious sentry box, with a window, book- case, sofa, table, chairs, and all the requirements of a single man of few needs. It seemed to me a delightful little sanctum; and for a moment I began to wonder whether, being an exhibitioner, I might not be entitled to one like it for myself—perhaps this was mine.

Tempest soon disabused me of that notion.

"Light the fire, and stick on my kettle, kid," said he—they were the first words after more than a year—"and cut and get us a muffin from the shop."

"I say," said I, longing for rather more cordial a recognition, "I am jolly glad to see you again, Tempest."

Just then another senior popped his head in.

"Have tea with me. Tempest? Come on, Wales is coming too."

"Is Crofter coming?"

"No."

"All right, I'm on; thanks, Pridgin. Blow that fire out, kid."

"Is that kid your fag?"

"Not likely."

"Is he all there? Sharpe seemed to doubt it."

Tempest shrugged his shoulders.

"How soon? Ten minutes?"

"Yes—not longer."

"Now, kid," said Tempest, when we were left alone, "how long are you going to play the fool? Take your time; but let us know when you've done, that's all."

"Really, I'm not fooling; I know I ought to have had on the lavender—"

Tempest laughed. A jolly laugh it was, though it frequently preceded a licking.

"You mean to say you sucked in all that rot? I thought I'd just see how far you'd let yourself be humbugged; I'm sorry I didn't tell you to stand on your head. I don't doubt you'd have done it."

I had painful reason to think he might be right.

"Why, even Dicky Brown was too old a bird for that sort of chaff," said Tempest; "he twigged it at once—and he's a day boy. Hand me that cane out of the cricket box, there's a good fellow, and hold out your hand. Don't yell; only muffs do that."

"What?" I exclaimed, "am I to be licked, Dux?"

"Don't call me Dux here. Yes, rather—three on each hand."

"But Mr Sharpe only said—"

"Sharpe—what's he got to do with it? Come on, look alive, or I shall be late for tea."

I could barely be angry with him. He didn't seem to be able to see the matter from my point of view at all, and was so genuinely friendly with it all.

"The third will be a hot one," said he, as I held out my hand; "but I don't want to break the cane—it's a good one."

The third was a hot one.

"Hurt you much?" said Tempest, carefully examining his weapon.

"Middling," said I.

"Now the other hand. I suppose you've not got to know many chaps yet? Did you get any cricket in the vac.?"

"No," said I, extending my left in a deprecating way.

"We did," said he. "We were jolly near licking—"

"Ow!"

"Feel that much? Good cane, isn't it? Now the other two will be easy."

To do him justice they were, or would have been had they not fallen uncomfortably near the site of the first.

"Stick the cane back," said he,—"and look here," he added in the old friendly way which always captivated me, "if you'll take any advice you'll drop playing the fool. It may be funny, but it doesn't pay. Fellows get bored by it."

"But I really—"

"I know you can't help it. Your best dodge is to lie low for a bit, and keep out of everybody's way."

"I never meant—"

"Of course you didn't. You can't help being an ass, but don't swagger or brag about it. Go easy—and, by the way, whatever you do, forget you're an exhibitioner. It's not your fault, I know, but it's a sort of thing to be lived down up here. Be nobody, that's the rule! then you'll worry through."

"But you were an exhibitioner, Tempest," I suggested, "weren't you?"

"Yes, but I kept it dark. Do you know the chap who asked me to tea?"

"No."

"He's Pridgin—in the Eleven—makes beastly bad jokes, but not a bad chap. You'll like fagging for him."

"What—am I to fag?" said I, undergoing another shock. I had made quite sure exhibitioners were exempt from that indignity.

"There you go again. What did I tell you?" said Tempest, in tones of mild menace; "you're putting it on again already. You'd better fish out that cane again, there's a good chap."

"Oh, please don't—I didn't mean, Tempest! All right, I'll fag for him."

Tempest regarded first me, then the cricket box where the cane lay, doubtfully.

"I tell you he's not half a bad chap. Bother it," added he, picking up the cane, "I must do it, kid. Awfully sorry, but it would be low to let you off because I know you. Look alive. One, middling warm, on each hand, that's all. Thanks."

He was quite unnecessarily grateful. His idea of middling warm, I could not help thinking, was not very different from hot. And yet I felt I could stand it better from him than from most.

"Some chaps," said he, after returning me the cane to put back in its place, "would say that this sort of thing pained them more than it does you. It didn't me. I fancy you felt it more than I did. Anyhow, you'll remember what I said, won't you? Pridgin's not half a bad chap."

"If you want any one to fag for you. Tempest—"

I began.

"Oh, I've got one—a beauty—young Trimble; he sat next to you at register to-day. You'll hit it off with him to a T. Talking of tea, by the way, it's time we showed up at Pridgin's. Come along, and I'll introduce you."

The reader may not believe it, but my interview with Tempest helped to knock the nonsense out of me more than any treatment I had yet undergone. It was not so much the caning (which, by the way, I afterwards discovered to be a wholly unauthorised proceeding on my old comrade's part), but his plain advice, and the friendly way in which it was all given. It made me realise that he really meant to stick by me and pull me through my troubles, and the sense of his interest in me made up wonderfully for the loneliness which had been growing on me ever since I entered Low Heath that morning.

Pridgin, as became a member of the Eleven, received me with dignity quite devoid of curiosity. He informed Tempest that he considered it was playing it pretty low down on him to let an idiot like me loose on him. Still, times were bad, and one must put up with what one could get.

Whereat I had the good sense to grin appreciatively, and was thereupon permitted to boil my new master's eggs and stand by the kettle until it was ready for the tea.



CHAPTER NINE.

ACQUAINTANCES, HIGH AND LOW.

I was at first too much concerned in my important culinary occupations to bestow much attention on the company. It was only when the eggs were boiled and the teapot filled that I had leisure to make a few observations.

The host, Pridgin, my new master, was not a very formidable sort of person at first blush. True he was in the Eleven and a fine all-round athlete. True he was fairly well up in the Sixth, and one of the boys Low Heath was proud of. These things did not strike one in beholding him. What did strike one was his air of lazy humour, which seemed to regard life as a huge joke, if only one could summon up the energy to enjoy it. Pridgin did indeed enjoy his share of it, but one could not help feeling that, were he to choose, that share would be a great deal larger than it really was.

It was plain to see he was fond of Tempest; a weakness which reconciled me to him from the first. Tempest, however, seemed, if anything, to prefer the third member of the party present, who was in every way a contrast to his genial host.

Wales struck one as a far more imposing person than Pridgin, but not quite as attractive. He was dressed in what seemed to me the top of the fashion, and had the appearance of a youth who made a point of having everything of the best. He had the reputation, as I discovered afterwards, of possessing the most expensive bats and racquets, the best-bound books, the best-fitting clothes, of any one in Low Heath. It was also rumoured that he spent more than any boy in the town shops, and gave the most extravagant entertainments in his study. Fellows were a little shy of him for this very reason. He forced the pace in the matter of money, and there were only a few fellows who could stand it.

Tempest was not one of these, and yet he seemed very thick with Wales. It was certainly not for the sake of his money, for Tempest was one of those fellows who never care for a fellow for the same reason that any one else would. He had begun by being amused with Wales's dandyism and extravagance, and had ended in encouraging him in them.

"I expect," said Wales, as the three heroes sat discussing their tea, "we're in for a pretty lively term, if it's true what I hear, that Redwood is to be captain."

"Why shouldn't he be?" asked Pridgin; "he's a hot man in the fields, as well as in classics."

"My dear fellow, he's a town-boy."

"What of that?"

"What of that? First of all, the town-boys are most of them snobs. Sons of hard-up people who come to live at Low Heath so as to get them into the school cheap. Then they can't possibly keep up with what goes on in school when they are away every evening."

"There's more in the second objection than the first," said Tempest. "I don't see why a fellow should be out of it because he's poor. If so, I can cut my lucky here. But it does seem a swindle to stick a town-boy over all of us."

"I don't see it," said Pridgin. "He's one of us. The only difference is, he goes home to sleep instead of tucking up in a cubicle here. No, what seems to me the cool thing is this talk of a town-boys' club, that brags it's going to lick the school clubs into fits. I hope it's not true, for if it is, we shall have to sit up, and I loathe sitting up."

His guests laughed. It was notorious that Pridgin when he did bring himself to "sit up" was a person worth reckoning with.

"For the matter of that," said Wales, "Redwood's not likely to trouble himself much. He'll take all the glory and do none of the work. The captain of Low Heath ought to have his hand in everything, and not let everything slide."

"You'll find Redwood can be awkward enough when he chooses. You can never tell how far he'll let things go on. But when his back once gets up he'll stiffen pretty hard."

"All I can say is," said Tempest, "if I'm to be cock of this house this term—and I've no right to be—"

"Yes, you have, old chap," said Pridgin.

"You know you purposely ran for second place last term, so as to get out of the fag of cocking the house," retorted his friend. "Anyhow, if I am to be cock, I mean to stand up for our rights, and see we're not done out of them by town-boys, of all people."

"Hear, hear," said Pridgin; "stick up for your rights. I don't exactly know what rights we're got more than any other Low Heathens, but stick up for them certainly. Nothing like having a grievance, if you can only find one."

"What do you say to Jarman for one?" said Wales.

The faces of all three clouded at the mention of this name.

"Ah, I'd forgotten about that. Is it true he's to be a sort of general discipline master, and have the right of pulling up any fellow, senior or junior, without even saying a word to his house prefects?"

"He won't do it here, if I can help," said Tempest, with a frown.

"Well, have some more tea," said Pridgin, "before you begin operations. Here, kid, make a fresh brew, sharp, and then cut."

What I had heard had been quite enough to satisfy me that things were not running altogether smoothly at Low Heath, and that Tempest was not beginning his new duties as head of his house in the best of tempers. I confess I felt a little uneasy. For I knew my old chief's impulsive, generous nature well enough to be sure that he might easily get himself into trouble for the sake of other people. His friends were evidently glad enough to let him fight their battles, but were not likely, at least so it seemed to me, to take much trouble to help him through with them.

I was wandering rather disconsolately down the passage when it occurred to me I did not know what I was expected to do or where I was expected to go.

I therefore ventured to accost a senior who was lounging about at the head of the stairs.

"If you please," said I, "I'm a new boy—can you tell me where to go?"

The senior, a bland, good-looking sort of youth, surveyed me carefully and replied—

"To bed, I should say."

"All right, thanks," said I; "which way is that?"

He laughed pleasantly.

"What's your name?"

"Thomas Jones."

"You needn't mind about the Thomas up here. Where have you come from?"

"Do you mean, where do I live, or where have I been just now?" I inquired, anxious to avoid any misunderstanding.

"Look here," said he, "hadn't you better take a seat, if you want to tell me all your family history? I'm sure it's very interesting, but it's rather late in the day to begin now. Where have you come from, not originally, but just now?"

I flushed up very much at this polite rebuke. Whatever made every one so anxious to assume that I was an ass?

"Pridgin's," said I. "I'm his fag, and he's having a tea party."

"Oh," said the youth; "who's there?"

"Only Tempest and Wales," I replied, feeling more at my ease.

"No one else?"

"No," I answered. Then, guessing he might have the same antipathies as Tempest, I volunteered—

"Crofter's not asked."

My companion opened his eyes. "Indeed—why?"

"I don't know. Only I know Tempest wouldn't have gone if he had been. Please which way do I go?"

"What objection has Tempest to Crofter?"

"I don't know—I suppose he's a beast. Tempest hates beasts."

The boy laughed.

"He must be very fond of you," said he.

"Yes," said I, "we're old chums; we were at Dangerfield together, and both got ex—"

There I was, after Tempest's warning about keeping my exhibition dark.

"Both got what? Expelled?" inquired the senior, with interest.

"Well—yes," said I, thinking that the best way of getting out of it. "It was this way—"

"Really, Jones, it's getting late," said the senior; "I've no doubt it's an interesting story. There, go and inquire in the fourth room on the left. They'll show you the way to bed."

And he departed.

I was very sorry he had not given me time to explain the little matter at Dangerfield. It would be a pity for any one to get a wrong impression about it. Still, what a lucky escape I had had from blabbing about my exhibition! The fellow, too, seemed a nice sort of chap, and disposed to be friendly, so there was no harm done after all.

I could tell, long before I reached it, that the room which had been indicated to me as the place where I might get the information for which I thirsted was, to say the least, inhabited—for the noise which penetrated through the keyhole and the cracks of the door was appalling. Either, thought I, a free fight is going on within, or there is a steam engine at work, or the builders are shooting bricks through the window. I was mistaken. It was only five boys of about my age talking.

The silence which greeted my appearance was rather more formidable than the noise which had preceded it. In the midst of it, however, I observed the form of Master Trimble, also that of my travelling companion of the morning, and concluded therefore that I had come to the right place for information.

"Full up! cut!" was the cordial greeting of the company generally.

"Hullo, it's Sarah!" cried my travelling companion. "What a lark! Collar him, you chaps. That's the idiot I was telling about. He came down in the train with his ma—"

"She wasn't," said I; "she was no relation."

A loud laugh greeted this disclaimer.

"Well, his nurse, or aunt, or washerwoman, or something."

"No, she wasn't."

"Shut up, and don't tell crams."

"It's you who are telling crams," said I, for the blood of the Joneses was getting up.

"Look here; do you mean to call me a crammer?" demanded the speaker, looking very imposing.

"If you say it again I will," said I. "I tell you that woman had no more to do with me than you; there!"

It was a critical situation, and the key to it was in my accuser's hands. If he insisted that the lady in question had anything to do with me, I was committed to call him a crammer. And if I called him a crammer, he was equally committed by all tradition to punch my head. And in the humour I was then in, he was not likely to do that without getting one back for himself.

"I know who it was," suddenly cried Trimble; "of course! Tempest told me last term there was a young ass coming up who'd been at a girls' school, and had got an exhibition or something. Of course this was his old school dame. Good old Sarah!"

At this terrific exposure the spirit leaked out of me. My tell-tale blushes confirmed what was true in the story, and my silence lent countenance to what was untrue. The delight of my tormentors was beyond words. They danced the "mulberry bush" round me, overwhelmed me with endearing expressions, offered me fans and smelling salts and cushions and hairpins, simulated hysterics and spasms, trod on my skirts, and conversed to me in shrill treble till I was sick of the business. Only one course was open to me. It was an unpleasant one, but on it depended, I felt, my future welfare at Low Heath.

I seized the nearest, who happened to be Master Trimble, and pulling him gently but firmly by the nose, demanded if girls generally treated him that way? He kicked vigorously, and ordered me to release the imprisoned member. I declined to do so until I had kicked back, and finally deposited him on the floor, amidst the laughter of his perfidious comrades, who told him it served him right, and that "Sarah" was evidently one too many for him.

This little protest stood me in good stead. It put an end to all direct aspersions on my sex, although it was a long while before I was destined to hear the last of delicate insinuations on the topic. And it advanced me very considerably in favour with the four whose noses I had not been fortunate enough to engage.

"Look here; stop fooling, you chaps," said one of them, when in due time Master Trimble was permitted to regain his feet. "This new kid had better make up our sixth man here. No other faggery would be likely to take him, so we may as well."

I concluded from this remark that the juniors of Mr Sharpe's house were permitted to herd together in half dozens; and on the whole I was disposed rather to bear the ills I had than fly to others I knew not of.

"I don't mind," said I, "if you let me be."

"Who wants to touch you with a pair of tongs? You may as well pull in with us, and help us kick the others. It'll be a change after the girls' school."

"I wasn't at a girls' school," said I, "I told you. All I did was to coach with one of the teachers."

"About the same thing, I fancy," said Trimble, blowing his outraged nose somewhat defiantly, "Sarah!"

"If you call me Sarah again," said I hotly, "I'll pull your nose again."

"All right: Miss Jones, then."

"No, not Miss; just Jones."

"All serene, just Jones, then shut up; stick on your lavender gloves, and keep your hair on."

There was a general laugh at this which vastly solaced the aggrieved Trimble, and encouraged him to refer jocularly to my late hat and boots, topics which I had not the spirit to resent.

As soon as these personal matters were disposed of, I was tacitly admitted as a member of the honourable faggery, and invited to express my opinion on a matter which had been engaging the attention of the fraternity before I arrived.

"We were thinking," said my late travelling companion, whom his friends addressed as Langrish, "that it would be a score to get up a Philosophical Society in the school. What do you say?"

"What to do?" I ventured to ask.

"Oh, discussions, and picnics, and larks. What do you suppose we should do? There's a senior club of the kind already. They go in for dry rot—science and history, and that sort of thing. Awful slow, and nobody knows what he's talking about. I flatter myself we should."

"We ought to draw up some rules, oughtn't we?" said Trimble.

"Rather—forge ahead."

Whereupon we crowded solemnly round the small table and put our heads together.

One of the party, by the way, answering to the name of Purkis, appeared to be the leading spirit, and made the most valuable suggestions.

"Rule 1," dictated he, "That this club be called the Low Heathen Conversation Club."

"Hold on," said Trimble; "you've got club coming twice in the same sentence. Bad grammar."

"Besides, I thought there was to be something about philosophy," suggested Langrish.

"And keeping out the day cads," said Warminster, another of the party.

"Of course, if you make the rule long enough," said Purkis, with lofty contempt, "you can get something in it about the man in the moon."

"But," said I, thinking to make a little joke, just to show I had no ill-feeling, "we don't want him in the club, do we?"

"No," said Langrish, who had evidently been on the look-out for his chance; "no more do we want pretty Sarah's washerwoman; do we, you chaps?"

I subsided gracefully. The time was not yet ripe, evidently, for me to assert myself.

"I tell you what," said Warminster; "what's the use of every one making each rule? Let old Purkis make the first, and I'll make the second, and Langrish the third, and so on. It will be ever so much quicker, and give each chap a fair innings."

It seemed a good idea, and as it allowed Purkis's rule to stand unchallenged, he acquiesced.

So in due time the following wonderful code of rules was drawn up and adopted—

1. That this club be called the Low Heath Conversation Club. (Purkis.)

2. That the object of the club be and are periodical picnics and meetings for the discussion of philosophy, etcetera. (Warminster.)

There was some debate as to whether the ninth word should be "is" or "are." But "are," as agreeing with the plural, was carried by a large majority.

3. That each member bring his own grub, alias provisions. (Trimble.)

4. That no day boy be eligible on to the club. (Langrish.)

5. That any member breaking the rules is hereby expelled. (Coxhead.)

6. That the subscription be two shillings a term, payable in advance. (Jones.)

Warminster was anxious for consistency's sake to add the words "and are" after "be," but was overruled.

After which we honourably drew lots for the various posts of emolument and honour in connection with the club.

To my surprise I was drawn for president. At first I was disposed to disclaim the honour on account of my youth and inexperience. But my fellow-Philosophers assured me that was no excuse, and that my name would undoubtedly "draw." I did not exactly see how, but they were probably better judges than I; and perhaps as an exhib—

No, I was bound to keep that dark. At any rate, it would be a nice thing to be able to write home to my mother, that on the day of my arrival I had been appointed president of the Philosophical Conversation Club, with a right to add the initials P.L.H.C.C. after my name. It sounded well, and would give me a better footing in Low Heath than my tan boots.

Langrish was drawn for treasurer, and Purkis for secretary; while, to obviate any cause for jealousy, Trimble was selected as auditor, Warminster as librarian, and Coxhead as registrar.

A levy of subscriptions was made forthwith by the treasurer, and the secretary was ordered to expend part of the amount in a handbill setting forth the object and personnel of the society, for distribution through the school. The auditor undertook to check the printer's bill, the librarian to keep a copy of the document among the archives of the club, and the registrar to prepare a book for entering the names of the new members. Altogether it was a most businesslike proceeding, and one which reflected, as it seemed to me, great credit on the young life of Low Heath.

After this, a peremptory summons from the bell dismissed us precipitately to bed. I had the indignity of being conducted to my cubicle by Mrs Smiley, who had the bad taste to adjure me in the hearing of my comrades to behave myself like a good boy and go to sleep directly the lights were out. This was not altogether easy, for my cubicle happened to be between those of Trimble and Langrish, and the partitions were not particularly high. I was, indeed, allowed to undress and say my prayers without interference, which was more than I had hoped for. But no sooner was I in bed, and lights out, than I was favoured with all sorts of missiles pitched over the partitions on either side with extraordinary accuracy. A book from Langrish hit me on the ear, and a wet sponge from Trimble moistened my cheek. And when I sought shelter under the sheets, the butt-end of a fishing-rod in the ribs drew me from my hiding-place, and a clever cast with a hooked pin by Langrish relieved me of my outer covering altogether. The footsteps of the monitor on duty deprived me of the privilege of making an audible protest. All I could do was to send Trimble's sponge quietly over to Langrish, and Langrish's book across to Trimble, and, as well as I was able, recover my abstracted sheet with the aid of the rod. It took a long time, and laid me open to dire penalties for disturbing the public peace. But it had to be done, and fortunately for me a row at the other end of the room called the monitor away in the nick of time.

When he returned, all was still, and I was dreaming that Mr Evans was selling a pair of second-hand six-buttoned lavender gloves to my mother in the hall of Mr Sharpe's house.



CHAPTER TEN.

SPECIAL SERVICE.

My introduction to Low Heath at large next day turned out to be a far less formidable affair than I had anticipated. I had long since given up the notion that the whole school would rise at my appearance and salute me. I had even ceased to expect that they would all stare and make remarks. But I was hardly prepared for the absolute indifference with which I was permitted to answer to my name at "Great register." Not a soul took any notice of me, even when Dr England explained to me publicly that as there were already three other Joneses in the School, I would please answer in future to the title of Jones iv., which I humbly promised to do. Brown, I was not sorry to hear, was to be designated as Brown iii. for similar reasons.

The ceremony being over, the new boys were trooped up to the head master's library, and there told off to their respective forms with a few words of warning and encouragement. It surprised me that, in spite of my scholastic honours, I was entered in the same form as Brown. But on the whole I was more pleased than disappointed, for I loved my old comrade dearly, and after all, if he was placed above his merits, it wasn't his fault.

"It's a pity you aren't a day boy," said he, as he walked across afterwards; "we could have larks together."

"It's a pity you aren't in the school," said I.

"Oh, our chaps say it's rather stale to be in the school. I don't see why your fellows should be looked down on, but they are."

"Pooh! you should hear our chaps talk about the day boys. Do you know, Dicky, I'm president of a club, a Philosophical Club; and day boys aren't eligible. I'm awfully sorry; I should have liked to have you in."

"That's just what I thought about the Urbans. They don't let in any fellow who's in the school—only day boys—they're obliged to draw the line somewhere, you know. Do you know Redwood, the captain, is a senior Urban?"

"I know. Our chaps say it's a soak for the school having a day boy for captain."

"Oh! We don't think so! I say, do you see that chap there?"

The youth at whom he pointed was the friendly senior of whom I had inquired the way to bed last night.

"Rather; he's a Sharper. Why, and what about him?"

"He's a hot man, they say, and the most popular chap at Low Heath. He's captain of the Rifles."

"What's his name? Do you know?"

"Crofts, or Crofter, or something like that. What's up?"

He might well ask!

"Crofter!" exclaimed I. "My word, Dicky, I've been and done it!"

"Done what?"

"Why, I called him a beast yesterday."

"You did? You're getting on, Jones iv."

"No, without humbug, I did. I didn't know it was Crofter, and I told him Tempest thought he was a beast."

"If Tempest says so, he probably is," remarked the unemotional Dicky.

"But what's to become of me? How was I to know?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you'd better go and tell him you were mistaken."

"I don't like to. I say, what a downer he'll have on me! I half wish I was a day boy, after all."

"It's a pity you aren't. We've a jolly lot in the Urban Minors; quite a literary lot."

"Bother the Urban Minors!" said I, looking dismally after the retreating form of Crofter.

"It'll take you all your time to bother some of them. There's Flitwick, he's—"

"Hang Flitwick! Whatever am I to do, Dicky?"

"I wouldn't advise you to hang Flitwick. Oh, about that fellow Crofter! Oh, it'll be all right. He's plenty else to think about."

It was poor comfort, but the best I could get, and our arrival at our class room cut short further discussion on this most unfortunate incident.

But it weighed on my mind all day. When class was over, I was summoned by my fellow "Philosophers" to come out into the playing fields; I went in fear and trembling, lest I should encounter Crofter. But he was nowhere to be seen.

My companions were evidently hand and glove with most of the juniors in the school, and I was favoured with a bewildering number of introductions, not always of the most gratifying kind.

"What have you got there, Trim? A tame monkey?" asked one gorgeous youth, whose cap bore the badge of Mr Selkirk's house.

"Not exactly," said Trimble; "haven't had time to tame him yet."

"What's his name?"

"Sarah. Allow me. Muskett—Sarah Jones; Jones—Silly Muskett. Now you know one another."

"He's only fooling about my name," said I; "it's Thomas."

"Oh, is it? Delighted to see you, Sarah Thomas."

And before I could put him right he was off, and I was led away by my rejoicing comrades.

"Look here, Trimble," said I, "it's time you knew my name by now."

Trimble laughed, as did the others. They all thought it was high time.

But everybody we met I was introduced to as Sarah.

"Awfully sorry," said Langrish, after the fourth or fifth offence. "I've such a bad memory for names.—Well kicked, sir."

This exclamation was addressed, not to me, but to a senior who had just appeared on the scene, and was kicking about the practice football with a friend prior to a match which was evidently due.

It was a splendid kick, and the author of it was a splendid fellow— brawny of limb and light of foot, with fair hair and clear blue eyes—as one might picture one of the Norsemen of the story-books. You could see by the way he moved, and the spirit he put even into this practice kicking, that he was a sportsman every inch of him; and his good-natured laugh, as he exchanged greetings with this and that arriving friend, proclaimed him, even before you heard him speak, as good a gentleman as he was an athlete.

"Redwood's in form to-day," said some one. "We'd better stop and see the play."

"Is that Redwood, the captain?" inquired I, in an awestruck way, of Warminster.

"Rather," was the reply, in a tone of pride which convinced me that Low Heath was proud of its chief, even though he had the misfortune to be a day boy.

Just then Redwood turned and waved his hand to somebody near us.

"Look out; he wants you," said Langrish.

"Me?" said I, flabbergasted.

"Don't you see him beckoning? Look alive, or you'll catch it."

I could hardly believe it; and yet everybody near looked round at me in apparent wonder at my delay.

Perhaps Redwood had heard something about me from Tempest and wanted to—

"Go on," said Trimble, giving me a shove. "If he wants to stick you in the Fifteen, tell him it's not good enough."

"Look sharp," called the others, encouragingly, as I started to obey the summons.

By this time Redwood was strolling our way. Mahomet, thought I, is coming to the mountain. So, to save him trouble, I trotted up to meet him.

At first he didn't notice me. Then when I said, "Did you want me?" he stared me over from head to foot as a Newfoundland dog would inspect a pug. It was on the whole a benevolent stare, not unmingled with humour; especially when the cheers of my late comrades called his attention to my ingenuous blushes.

"I didn't," said he; "but you'll do, if you don't mind. Cut home to my house. Number 3, Bridge Street, and ask them to send my leather belt. Look alive, there's a good chap."

This speech, the first really polite speech I had heard since I entered Low Heath, took me by storm, and captivated me at once to the service of the captain of the school. I galloped off, as proud as a non- commissioned officer who has been sent to fetch his regimental flag on to the field of battle. The chaps behind might cheer and jeer and cry, "Gee-up, Sarah!" and "Mad dog!" as much as they liked. They would have been only too proud to be sent on my errand.

It was a good ten minutes' run to Bridge Street, and I was fairly out of breath when I rang at the bell of Number 3. It seemed a long time before any one came, and I was beginning to be afraid I should forfeit the reputation I hoped to acquire, when hurried footsteps announced that my ring had been heard.

Mrs Redwood was out, said the servant, and she had been down the garden with the children.

When I delivered my message, she asked me to wait; and with her little charges evidently on her mind, ran upstairs to fetch the belt.

It was a nice house, although a small one. The garden door was open, and gave a beautiful peep over the little sloping lawn to the river and the woods beyond. I was not sure that, after all, a town-boy might not have a good time of it, living in a place like this, instead of in school.

Suddenly my reflections were disturbed by a shrill scream from the garden, followed by a little girl of five or six crying—

"Annie, Annie! Mamie's tumbled in; Mamie's tumbled in!"

For a wonder I had my wits about me, and divined the truth at once. With a bound I was down the steps and across the lawn, half knocking down the panic-stricken little messenger on the way, and at the river's edge, floundering piteously in about two feet of water, found the unfortunate little Mamie—evidently a twin-sister—more frightened than hurt, but perilously near to getting into deep water.

Her yells redoubled when she found herself grabbed by the sash by a stranger, and lugged most unceremoniously on to terra firma.

Scarcely had I achieved this gallant rescue, without even wetting my own shoes, when Annie, as white as a sheet, came flying on to the scene.

"It's all right," said I; "she's not hurt."

Whereupon Annie most inconsiderately leaned up against a post, clapped her hands to her heart, and went or threatened to go off into hysterics. And there was I, a poor unprotected male, left to face the squalling of two infant female children and a full-grown female nurserymaid!

"Look here," said I, appealingly, "Mamie's soaking wet. You'd better take her and dry her, before she gets her death of cold."

This appeal had the desired effect. It stopped the nurse's spasms and let loose her tongue.

"Oh dear, oh my! And I told her not to go through the gate. Oh, you naughty girl you; and you. Miss Gwen, for letting her do it. Come in directly, you little hussies!"

It struck me as grossly unfair of Annie; but I did not venture in her present state of mind to protest, for fear she should call me hussy too. I followed indoors, somewhat guiltily, at the tail of the procession, feeling myself in a very unpleasant situation, in which I would not on any account be caught by Redwood's mother or by Redwood himself. To my delight, on the floor of the hall, where Annie had dropped it, lay the belt, at which I sprang greedily, and not waiting to say thank you, or put in a word for the doomed infants, which would have been quite inaudible in the volume of Annie's philippics, I saved myself (as the Frenchman says), and ran at racing speed with my prize back to the school field.

To my mortification I found the match had just begun, and it would be impossible to deliver my missive till half-time. What would the captain think of me? Would he suspect me of having dawdled to buy sweets, or look over the bridge, or gossip with a chum? I would not for anything it had happened, and felt not at all amiably disposed to Miss Mamie, as the inconsiderate cause of my delay.

However, there was nothing for it but to wait. I resolved not to put myself into the clutches of the Philosophers till my mission was discharged, for fear of accident; so I seated myself on one of the pavilion steps and watched the play.