at even an earl has
a lot of beastly jobs to do which never bother _us_."

"Oh, you've found that out, have you, John? Well, I hesitated when the
invitation came; but I'm glad now that you went."

"Yes; and it's ripping to be home again."

* * * * *

The summer term began in glorious sunshine; and John forgot that he
owned an umbrella. The Caterpillar and he had achieved their remove, but
the unhappy Duffer was left behind alone with the hideous necessity of
doing his form's work by himself. The boys occupied the same rooms, but
John prepared his Greek and Latin with Scaife, Caesar, and the
Caterpillar; whom he was now privileged to call by their nick-names.
They began to call him John, hearing young Kinloch do so; and then one
day, Scaife, looking up with his derisive smile, said--

"I'm going to call you Jonathan."

"Good," said Desmond. "All the same, we can't call either the Duffer or
Fluff--David, can we?"

"I was not thinking of Kinloch or Duff," said Scaife, staring hard at
John. And John alone knew that Scaife read him like a book, in which he
was contemptuously amused--nothing more. After that, as if Scaife's will
were law, the others called John--Jonathan.

Very soon, the sun was obscured by ever-thickening clouds. John happened
to provoke the antipathy of a lout in his form known as Lubber Sprott.
Sprott began to persecute him with a series of petty insults and
injuries. He accused him of "sucking up" to a lord, of putting on "lift"
because he was the youngest boy in the Upper Remove, of kow-towing to
the masters--and so forth. Then, finding these repeated gibes growing
stale, he resorted to meaner methods. He upset ink on John's books, or
kicked them from under his arm as he was going up to the New Schools.
He put a "dringer"[20] into the pocket of John's "bluer."[21] He pinched
him unmercifully if he found himself next to John in form, knowing that
John would not betray him. When occasion offered he kicked John. In
short, he was successful in taking all the fun and sparkle out of the
merrie month of May.

Finally, Caesar got an inkling of what was going on.

"Is Sprott ragging you?" he asked point-blank.

"Ye-es," said John, blushing. "It's n-nothing," he added nervously.
"He'll get tired of it, I expect."

"I saw him kick you," said Desmond, frowning. "Now, look here, Jonathan,
you kick him; kick him as hard as ever you can where, where he kicks
you--eh? And do