The latter
might have been pronounced good-looking, had it not been for a
perpetual expression of restlessness and discontent, which soured what
would otherwise have been a pleasant face. He seemed to care very
little for the lines, and as soon as the master's eye was off him he
turned to Garston and winked.

Valentine was by no means what is commonly known as a "good boy;" he
was as fond of a lark as any right-minded youngster need be; but he had
been taught at home that any one who intended to become a soldier
should first learn to obey, and to respect the authority of those set
over him. He did not like plunging into rows for the sake of being
disorderly; and something in Jack Fenleigh's careless behaviour did not
tend to leave on his mind a very favourable impression of his
newly-found cousin. He had, however, promised Queen Mab to make
friends; and so, as soon as afternoon school was over, he waited for
Jack in the gravel playground, and there introduced himself.

"Oh, so you're Valentine," said the other. "My guv'nor told me you
were here."

"Yes. I hope we shall be friends."

"Well, there's no reason why we shouldn't. My guv'nor's had a row with
yours, I know; but that's nothing, he's always quarrelling with
somebody, and I'm sure I don't mind, if you don't. By-the-bye, weren't
you the fellow who was in the classroom when I got into that row about
the burning-glass?"

"Yes; and I say it's rather a pity you go on like that the first day
you're here. Masters don't expect new fellows to begin larking at
once, and you'll get into Rowlands' bad books."

"Oh, I don't mind that," answered the other; "I didn't want to come
here, and I don't care if I'm sent going again."

At this moment Garston joined them.

"Hallo!" he said, "are you two related to each other? I never thought
of your names being the same before. Cousins, eh? Well, look here,
new Fenleigh, Pilson's on the war-path after you for burning his neck."

"I don't care if he is," answered the other.

Hardly had the words been spoken when the subject of them turned the
corner.

"Yes," he cried, "you're the chap I'm after! What did you burn my coat
for?"

"I didn't burn your coat."

"Oh, you liar! Look here, I'm just going to--"

What Pilson _was_ going to do will remain for ever unknown. He had no
sooner laid his hand on Jack's collar than the latter, without a
moment's hesitation, struck him a heavy blow on the chest which sent