or; upon the threshold of the other stood
the butler, holding a silver salver, with a sheet of paper on it.

"What cheek!" murmured Scaife.

"Eh?" said John.

"Dirty Dick isn't here. Just like him, the slacker! And when he does
come over on our side of the House, he slimes about in carpet
slippers--the beast!"

Lawrence entered as Scaife spoke. John saw that his strongly-marked
eyebrows went up, when he perceived the butler. He approached, and
took the sheet of paper. The butler said impressively--

"Mr. Rutford is busy. Will you call over, sir?"

At any rate, the butler, Dumbleton, was worthy of the best traditions
of the Manor. He had a shrewd, clean-shaven face, and the deportment
of an archbishop. The Head of the House took the paper, and began to
call over the names. Each boy, as his name was called, said, "Here,"
or, if he wished to be funny, "Here, _sir_!"

"Verney?"

The name rang out crisply.

"Here, _sir_," said John.

The Head of the House eyed him sharply.

"Kinloch?"

No answer.

"Kinloch?"

Scaife answered dryly: "Kinloch's portmanteau has come." Then
Dumbleton said in his smooth, bland voice, "His lordship is in the
drawing-room with Mr. Rutford."

The boys exchanged knowing glances. Scaife looked contemptuous. The
next moment the last name had been called, and the boys scurried into
the passages. Lawrence was the first to leave the hall. Impulsively,
John rushed up to him.

"I didn't mean to be funny, I didn't really," he panted.

"Quite right. It doesn't pay," Lawrence smiled grimly, "for new boys
to be funny. I saw you didn't mean it."

Lawrence spoke in a loud voice. John realized that he had so spoken
purposely, trying to wipe out a new boy's first blunder.

"Thanks awfully," said John.

He reached his room to find three other boys busily engaged in abusing
their house-master. They took no notice of John, who leaned against
the wall.

"His lordship is in the drawing-room with Mr. Rutford."

A freckle-faced, red-headed youth, with a big elastic mouth had
imitated Dumbleton admirably.

"What a snob Dick is!" drawled a very tall, very thin,
aristocratic-looking boy.

"And fool," added Scaife. "This sort of thing makes him loathed."

"It _is_ a sell his being here."

All three fell to talking. The question still festering in John's mind
was answered within a minute. The "brute" was Rutford. Towards the
end of the previous term gossip had it that