ber So-and-So." Perhaps one had to nip up
to the Creameries to get a slice of salmon, or cutlets, or sausages.
Fagging at Harrow--which varies slightly in different houses--is hard or
easy according to the taste and fancy of the fag's master. Some of the
Sixth Form at the Manor made their fags unlace their dirty football
boots. Kinloch, who since he left the nursery had been waited upon by
powdered footmen six feet high, now found, to his disgust, that he had
to varnish Trieve's patent-leathers for Sunday. Trieve was second in
command, and had been known as "Miss" Trieve. John would have gladly
done this and more for Lawrence, his fag-master; but Lawrence, a manly
youth, scorned sybaritic services. The Caterpillar taught John to carry
his umbrella unfolded, to wear his "straw" straight (a slight list to
port was allowed to "Bloods" only), not to walk in the middle of the
road, and so forth. How he used to envy the members of the Elevens as
they rolled arm-in-arm down the High Street! How often he wondered if
the day would ever dawn when Caesar and he, outwardly and inwardly linked
together, would stroll up and down the middle-walk below the Chapel
Terrace: that sunny walk, whence, on a fair day, you can see the
insatiable monster, London, filling the horizon and stretching red,
reeking hands into the sweet country--the middle-walk, from which all
but Bloods were rigidly excluded.

Much to his annoyance--an annoyance, be it said, which he managed to
hide--John seemed to attract young Kinloch almost as magnetically as he
himself was attracted to Caesar. John had not the heart to shake off the
frail, delicate child, who was christened "Fluff" after his first
appearance in public. Fluff had taken the First Fourth and ingenuously
confessed to any one who cared to listen that he ought to have gone to
Eton. A beast of a doctor prescribed the Hill. And even the almighty
duke failed to get him into Damer's, another grievance. He had been
entered since birth at the crack house at Eton; and now to be
pitchforked into Dirty Dick's at Harrow----! The Duffer kicked him,
feeling an unspeakable cad when poor Fluff burst into tears.

"Sorry," said the Duffer. "Only you mustn't slang Harrow. And you'd
better get it into your silly head that it's the best school in this or
any other world--isn't it, Demon?"

"I'm sure the Verneys, and the Egertons, and the Duffs have always
thought so."

"But it isn't really," whimpered poor Fluff. "Y