zed as a beastly flannel shirt he had lost when he was at the
'Varsity. But only the Fourth Form boys swallow _that_. Hullo! There's a
pal of mine. See you again."

He ran off gaily. John walked to the shop where straw hats were sold.
Here he met other new boys, who regarded him curiously, but said
nothing. John put on his hat, and gave Rutford's name to the young man
who waited on him. He had an absurd feeling that the young man would
say, "Oh yes--Dirty Dick's!" One very nice-looking pink-cheeked boy said
to another boy that he was at Damer's. John could have sworn that the
hatter's assistant regarded the pink youth with increased deference.
Why had Uncle John sent him to Dirty Dick's? He hurried out of the shop,
fuming. Then he remembered the hammerless gun. After all, the Manor had
been _the_ house once, and it might be _the_ house again.

By this time the boys were arriving. Groups were forming. Snatches of
chatter reached John's ears. "Yes, I shot a stag, a nine-pointer. My
governor is going to have it set up for me---- What? Walked up your
grouse with dogs! We drive ours---- I had some ripping cricket, made a
century in one match---- By Jove! Did you really?----"

John passed on. These were "bloods," tremendous swells, grown men with a
titillating flavour of the world about their distinguished persons.

A minute later he was staring disconsolately at a group of his fellows
just in front of Dir----of Rutford's side door. An impulse seized him to
turn and flee. What would Uncle John say to that? So he advanced. The
boys made way politely, asking no questions. As he passed through he
caught a few eager words. "I was hoping that the brute had gone. It _is_
a sickener, and no mistake!"

John ascended the battered, worn-out staircase, wondering who the
"brute" was. Perhaps a sort of Flashman. John knew his _Tom Brown_; but
some one had told him that bullying had ceased to be. Great emphasis had
been laid on the "brute," whoever he might be.

Upon the second-floor passage, he found his room and one of its tenants,
who nodded carelessly as John crossed the threshold.

"I'm Scaife," he said. "Are you the Lord, or the Commoner?" He laughed,
indicating a large portmanteau, labelled, "Lord Esme Kinloch."

"I'm Verney," said John.

"I've bagged the best bed," said Scaife, after a pause, "and I advise
you to bag the next best one, over there. It was mine last term."

"I don't see the beds," said John, staring about h