nce and offensiveness,
quite overpowered Stephen, who stared at the boy as if he had been a
talking frog.

That youth evidently seemed to expect that his speech would produce a
far deeper impression than it did, for he looked quite angry when
Stephen made no reply.

"Wretched little sneak!" the amiable one continued; "I suppose he'll go
peaching to his big brother. Never mind, _we'll_ pay you out, see if we
don't! Go and kiss your mammy, and tell your big brother what they did
to little duckie Steevie, did they then? they shouldn't! Give him a
suck of his bottle! oh, my!" and he finished up with a most withering
laugh. Then, suddenly remembering his errand, he walked up to the
table, and said, "I want that inkpot!"

Now was Stephen's time. He was just in the humour for an argument with
this young Philistine.

"What for?"

"What's that to you? give it up!"

"I shan't give it up; Oliver said it was not to be taken."

"What do you say?" yelled the small boy, almost beside himself with rage
and astonishment. "It's my brother's ink, and I'm not to give it up,"
said Stephen, shutting the top and keeping his hand on it.

It was enough! The patriarch of the Tadpoles knew his strong point was
in words rather than action; but this could not be endured. At whatever
risk, the dignity of his order must be maintained, and this insolent,
mad new boy must be--kicked.

"I'll kick you on the legs if you don't give it up," said the Tadpole,
in a suppressed white heat.

Stephen said nothing, but kept his hand on the pot, and awaited what was
to follow.

The hero stepped back a pace or two, to allow of a run worthy of the
coming kick; and what might have happened no one knows. At that moment
the door opened, and Pembury entered on his crutches.

At sight of this Fifth Form celebrity the Tadpole cringed and cowered,
and tried to sneak out of the study unobserved. But Anthony was too
quick for him. Gently hooking him by the coat-collar with the end of a
crutch, he brought him back.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, he is," shouted Stephen; "he's been trying to take, away Oliver's
ink."

"Silence, young gentleman, pray!" said Pembury, very grandly. Then,
turning to the Tadpole, he added, "Oh, so you've been trying to bag some
ink, have you?"

"Well, I only wanted a little; and this--"

"Silence! how much ink did you want?"

"Only half a potful."

"You shall have half a potful!" said Pembury