e up to lay his hand upon the
shoulder of Severn, to whisper, "What's the matter, Glyn?" started on
hearing this address, and his dark face, which was about the tint of a
_young_ Spaniard's, whom he resembled greatly in mien, flushed up and
the lips closed very tightly, but only to part again and show his
glistening white teeth. "My father--" he began.

"Bother! come on," cried Severn, putting his arm round the other and
half-pushing, half-dragging him through the crowd of lads who were
clustering round in expectation of a coming set-to.

There was a low murmur as of disgust as the two lads elbowed their way
through, whilst Slegge shouted after them.

"Sneaks!" he cried. "Cowards! But I haven't done with you yet;" and as
they passed out through the door into the great playground he drew
himself up, giving his head a jerk, and then moistening his hands in a
very objectionable way, he gave them a rub together, doubled his fists,
and threw himself into a fighting attitude, jerking his head to and fro
in the most approved manner; and, bringing forth a roar of delight from
the little crowd around him, as quick as lightning he delivered two
sharp blows right and left to a couple of unoffending schoolfellows,
picking out, though, two who were not likely to retaliate.

"That'll be it, boys, the pair together--one down and t'other come on.
Both together if they like. They want putting in their places. I mean
to strike against it."

"Hit hard then, Sleggy," cried one of his parasites.

"I will," was the reply. "There you have it;" and to the last speaker's
disgust he received a sharp blow in the chest which sent him staggering
back. "Now, don't you call me Sleggy again, young man. Next time it
will be one in the mouth.--Yes, boys," he continued, drawing himself up,
"I do mean to hit hard, and let the Principal and the masters see that
we are not going to have favouritism here. Indian prince, indeed! Yah!
who's he? Why, I could sell him for a ten-pun note, stock and lock and
bag and baggage, to Madame Tussaud's. That's about all he's fit for.
Dressed up to imitate an English gentleman! Look at him! His clothes
don't fit, even if they are made by a proper tailor."

"It's he who doesn't fit his clothes," cried one of the circle.

"Well done, Burney!" cried Slegge approvingly. "That's it. Look at his
hands and feet. Bah! I haven't patience with it. The Doctor ought to
be ashamed of himself, taking a nigger