lect kings and chieftains of their own, whom they admire and obey, as
negro-gangs have private black sovereigns in their own body, to whom
they pay an occult obedience, besides that which they publicly profess
for their owners and drivers. Among the young ones Pen became famous
and popular: not that he did much, but there was a general determination
that he could do a great deal if he chose. "Ah, if Pendennis of Boniface
would but try," the men said, "he might do anything." He was backed for
the Greek Ode won by Smith of Trinity; everybody was sure he would have
the Latin hexameter prize which Brown of St. John's, however, carried
off, and in this way one university honour after another was lost by
him, until, after two or three failures, Mr. Pen ceased to compete. But
he got a declamation prize in his own college, and brought home to
his mother and Laura at Fairoaks a set of prize-books begilt with the
college arms, and so big, well-bound, and magnificent, that these ladies
thought there had been no such prize ever given in a college before
as this of Pen's, and that he had won the very largest honour which
Oxbridge was capable of awarding.

As vacation after vacation and term after term passed away without the
desired news that Pen had sate for any scholarship or won any honour,
Doctor Portman grew mightily gloomy in his behaviour towards Arthur,
and adopted a sulky grandeur of deportment towards him, which the lad
returned by a similar haughtiness. One vacation he did not call upon the
Doctor at all, much to his mother's annoyance, who thought that it was
a privilege to enter the Rectory-house at Clavering, and listened to Dr.
Portman's antique jokes and stories, though ever so often repeated, with
unfailing veneration. "I cannot stand the Doctor's patronising air", Pen
said. "He's too kind to me, a great deal fatherly. I have seen in the
world better men than him, and am not going to bore myself by listening
to his dull old stories and drinking his stupid old port wine." The
tacit feud between Pen and the Doctor made the widow nervous, so that
she too avoided Portman, and was afraid to go to the Rectory when Arthur
was at home.

One Sunday in the last long vacation, the wretched boy pushed his
rebellious spirit so far as not to go to church, and he was seen at
the gate of the Clavering Arms smoking a cigar, in the face of the
congregation as it issued from St. Mary's. There was an awful sensation
in the village soc