pest's little joke. But evidently I had made a fearful mistake. For
the senior who had given the admonition was not Tempest at all, but his
next neighbour; and the fact that it was not given to me but to a
monitor made it clear that, however I had been humbugged over the other
details of "form," gloves were the order of the day for new boys at
first call-over.

In a panic I rose and tried to go out, with the wild idea of rescuing my
gloves from my trunk. But it was impossible to escape. Not only had my
companion his feet up more uncompromisingly than ever, but my sudden
movement called down upon me general remarks.

"Shut up I sit down, can't you?" said my neighbour. "What are you up
to?"

"My gloves--I've--I've left them upstairs."

"Your what?"

"Gloves. I thought it was a mistake about new boys having to wear them,
and didn't bring them."

The boy looked grave.

"Oh, you'll catch it! You can't go now. There's Sharpe coming in.
Haven't you got any at all?"

"Only my ordinary gloves."

"What colour?"

"Yellow."

"Stick them on then."

"But they've only two buttons."

"Can't be helped. You're bound to catch it, but they're better than
nothing."

So, in dire agitation, I drew on my new dog-skin gloves. The smiles of
the boys near me I interpreted as a grim recognition that I had "shirked
form" and did not know any better. I longed to explain that I did, and
that I had not come to Low Heath as ignorant as they supposed. But it
was impossible. Mr Sharpe was already in his place, and "register" had
begun.

Register, a ceremony with which I was destined to become painfully
familiar in time, consisted in the calling over of the names of all the
boys in the house, in order of place, by the minor prefect, who took his
stand at the side of the master's desk for the purpose. Instead of
answering "Here" or "Adsum," in the usual way, the boy whose name was
called stood in his place and held up his hand.

I had been so preoccupied with the lack of my six-button lavender gloves
and the remarks of my two left-hand neighbours, that I had failed
altogether to observe the boy on my right, who now quietly nudged me,
and presented to my astonished gaze the serene and serious countenance
of Dicky Brown.

"What have you got your gloves on for?" inquired he, as if he had seen
me daily since we parted.

"It's the form. Haven't you got any? I say, you'll get in a jolly
row," said I, quite delighted to