"I suppose you intend that for wit," said the new boy languidly. "Yes; to do you, to wit," answered Henderson; "but seriously though, that would be a great deal more like what you have been accustomed to, wouldn't it, my friend?" "Very much more," said the boy. "And would you politely favour this company," said Henderson, with obsequious courtesy, "by revealing to us your name?" "My name is Howard Tracy." "Oh, indeed!" said Henderson, with an air of great satisfaction, and making a low bow. "I am called Howard Tracy because I am descended lineally from both those noble families." "My goodness! are you really!" said Henderson, clasping his hands in mock transport. "My dear sir, you are an honour to your race and country! you are an honour to this school. By Jove, we are proud, sir, to have you among us!" "Perhaps you may not know that my uncle is the Viscount Saint George," said Tracy patronisingly. "Is he, though, by George!" said Henderson yawning. "Is that Saint George who-- "`Swinged the dragon, and e'er since Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door?'" But finding that the boy's vanity was too obtuse to be amusing any longer, he was about to leave him to the rest, when Jones caught sight of Walter, and called out:-- "Halloa, here's a new fellow grinning at the follies of his kind. Come here, you dark-haired chap. What's your name?" "Evson," said Walter, quietly approaching them. Before getting any fun out of him it was necessary to see what kind of boy he was; and as Jones hardly knew what line to take, he began on the commonest and most vulgar tack of catechising him about his family and relations. "What's your father?" "My father is a gentleman," said Walter, rather surprised at the rudeness of the question. "And where do you live?" "At Semlyn." "And how old are you?" "Just thirteen." "And how many sisters have you?" Walter rather thought of asking, "What's that to you?" but as he saw no particular harm in answering the question, and did not want to seem too stiff-backed, he answered, "Three." "And are they very beautiful?" "I don't know; I never asked them. Are yours?" This last question was so perfectly quiet and unexpected, and Jones was so evidently discomfited by it, that the rest burst into a roar of laughter, and Henderson said, "You've caught a tartar, Jones. You can't drop salt on this bird's tail. You had better return to Plumber, or Saint George and the dragon. Here, my noble Viscount, what do you think of your coeval? Is he as common as the rest of us?" "I don't think anything about him, if you mean me by Viscount," said Tracy peevishly, beginning at last to understand that they had been making a fool of him.