be able to lord it a little over an
inferior.

"Why--who told you?"

"Tempest."

"Tempest's a regular humbug. He tried to stuff me up by making me bring
a cheese-cutter cap. But I wasn't such a fool as I look."

Alas! it was my turn to colour up. Had Dicky, I wondered, seen my
square billycock?

At that moment Tempest's name was called, and we saw our old Dux rise
complacently in his seat and hold up his hand.

It was difficult to feel angry with him. He looked so cool and
determined, his shoulders were so square, and the year that had elapsed
since we met had added three good inches to his stature. It was a
feather in a fellow's cap to know Tempest, even if he did have his
little joke at one's expense now and then.

I came to the conclusion that Dicky and I must be the only two new boys
in the house, for none of the numerous hands, grimy and otherwise, which
went up were cased in anything but their native skin.

Presently the register clerk came to an end of his list, and I was
beginning to congratulate both myself and Brown on our probable escape
from detection when Mr Sharpe said--

"New boys, come forward."

My left-hand neighbour interposed no obstruction now, as, followed by
Dicky, I sidled out of my place and advanced along with five other
youths to the front. I was conscious of smiles as I went past the
desks, some of recognition of the late owner of the tan boots, some of
appreciation of my blushes, and others, as I supposed, of the greenness
which had led all my companions to commit the fatal error of not
appearing in gloves, and of my error, though in a smaller degree, of
appearing in bright yellow two-button goods instead of lavender of the
regulation half-dozen.

I exchanged glances with Tempest, among others, who looked very serious,
and was evidently chagrined that after all his kind trouble on my behalf
I should now land myself in this dilemma. Good old Tempest! It wasn't
his fault.

"Answer to your--" began Mr Sharpe, when, suddenly catching sight of
me, he said--

"Why, sir, what nonsense is this? What do you mean by wearing those
gloves?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," I faltered, and felt that not a word of my
speech was being lost by the assembled house; "I've left my lavender
six-button gloves in my trunk."

Mr Sharpe's mouth curled at the corner in a curious way, and a general
titter greeted my explanation from the benches behind.

I was fully convinced now that, after