"Hullo, Hench, and how are you?" was his greeting, and he advanced with a gracious smile and an outstretched hand. The young man rose slowly, looking very much astonished, but mechanically accepted the proferred grasp. Apparently he did not recognize that this resplendent being was his old schoolfellow, and hinted as much in a rough and ready fashion. "Who the deuce are you?" he demanded with a puzzled expression. "Cuthbert Spruce!" replied the Nut, nettled as a vain man would be by the want of recognition. "Cuthbert Spruce! Well?" Hench still appeared to be ignorant and waited for some light to be cast upon the subject of this hearty greeting. "Oh, come now, you are an ass, Hench. Don't you remember Winchester, and the day you picked me up when I got lost during the hare and hounds run?" Hench stared at the pink and white cherubic face and a smile broke over his face, as he shook the little man's hand heartily. "Of course. Little Spruce, isn't it?" "I have already said as much," retorted the mortified Nut dryly. "Well, I didn't see much of you at Winchester, you know," confessed the stalwart young man, sitting down for a chat; "you were in a different set, anyhow. And I don't fancy I cared much for your set, such as it was. H'm!" Hench stared hard at the other and pulled hard at his pipe. "Yes. Little Spruce, of course, commonly called The Cherub. And by gad, Spruce, you're a cherub still." "No one could call you so, Hench," said Spruce affably, sitting down and producing a dainty cigarette-case; "you are more like Hercules, big and stolid and dull and honest." "What a mixture of depreciation and compliment," said Hench coolly. "Well, I am glad to see you, in spite of your somewhat free speech. After all, one's heart warms to a chap from the old school." "Rather!" agreed the Nut, whose heart never warmed towards any one or anything. "It's queer meeting you here. Let's have a look at you."