My uncle is Verney of Verney
Boscobel."

"Oh! his name is on the panels at the head of the staircase; and it's
carved on a bed in the next room."

"Crikey! I must go and look at it."

"You can look at the panels, of course; but don't say 'Crikey!' and
don't go into the next room. Two Fifth Form fellows have it. It would be
infernal cheek."

John hoped that Scaife would offer to accompany him to the panels. Then
he went alone. It being now within half an hour of lock-up, the passages
were swarming with boys. Soon John would see them assembled in Hall,
where their names would be called over by Rutford. Everybody--John had
been told--was expected to be present at this first call-over, except a
few boys who might be coming from a distance. John worked his way along
the upper passage, and down the second flight of stairs till he came to
the first landing. Here, close to the house notice-board, were some oak
panels covered with names and dates, all carved--so John learned
later--by a famous Harrow character, Sam Hoare, once "Custos" of the
School. The boy glanced eagerly, ardently, up and down the panels. Ah,
yes, here was his father's name, and here--his uncle's. And then out of
the dull, finely-grained oak, shone other names familiar to all who love
the Hill and its traditions. John's heart grew warm again with pride in
the house that had held such men. The name of the great statesman and
below it a mighty warrior's made him thrill and tremble. They were _Old
Harrovians_, these fellows, men whom his uncle had known, men of whom
his dear mother, wise soul! had spoken a thousand times. The landing and
the passages were roaring with the life of the present moment. Boys, big
and small, were chaffing each other loudly. Under some circumstances,
this new-comer, a stranger, ignored entirely, might have felt desolate
and forlorn in the heart of such a crowd; but John was tingling with
delight and pleasure.

Suddenly, the noise moderated. John, looking up, saw a big fellow slowly
approaching, exchanging greetings with everybody. John turned to a boy
close to him.

"Who is it?" he whispered.

The other boy answered curtly, "Lawrence, the Head of the House."

The big fellow suddenly caught John's eyes. What he read
there--admiration, respect, envy--brought a slight smile to his lips.

"Your name?" he demanded.

"Verney."

Lawrence held out his hand, simply and yet with a certain dignity.

"I heard you were coming," he