The boys called out, 'Now, then, pig-iron!' One fellow enraged me by throwing an apple that hit her in the back. We exchanged half-a-dozen blows, whereupon he consented to apologize, and roared, 'Hulloa, pig-iron, sorry if I hurt you.' Temple urged me to insist on the rascal's going on his knees for flinging at a girl. 'Why,' said Chaunter, 'you were the first to call her pig-iron.' Temple declared he was a blackguard if he said that. I made the girl take a piece of toffy. 'Aha!' Saddlebank grumbled, 'this comes of the precious company you would keep in spite of my caution.' The man told us to go it, for he liked to observe young gentlemen enjoying themselves. Temple tossed him a pint bottle of beer, with an injunction to him to shut his trap. 'Now, you talk my mother tongue,' said the man; 'you're what goes by the name of a learned gentleman. Thank ye, sir. You'll be a counsellor some day.' 'I won't get off thieves, I can tell you,' said Temple. He was the son of a barrister. 'Nor you won't help cook their gooses for them, may be,' said the man. 'Well, kindness is kindness, all over the world.' The women stormed at him to command him not to anger the young gentlemen, for Saddlebank was swearing awfully in an undertone. He answered them that he was the mildest lamb afloat. Despairing of the goose, we resolved to finish the cold repast awaiting us. The Dutch cheese had been bowled into bits. With a portion of the mashed tarts on it, and champagne, it tasted excellently; toffy to follow. Those boys who chose ginger-wine had it, and drank, despised. The ginger-beer and ale, apples and sallylunns, were reserved for supper. My mind became like a driving sky, with glimpses of my father and Heriot bursting through. 'If I'm not a prince, I'm a nobleman,' I said to Temple. He replied, 'Army or Navy. I don't much care which. We're sure of a foreign war some time. Then you'll see fellows rise: lieutenant, captain, colonel, General—quick as barrels popping at a bird. I should like to be Governor of Gibraltar.' 'I'll come and see you, Temple,' said I. 'Done! old Richie,' he said, grasping my hand warmly. 'The truth is, Temple,' I confided to him, 'I've an uncle—I mean a grandfather—of enormous property; he owns half Hampshire, I believe, and hates my father like poison. I won't stand it. You've seen my father, haven't you? Gentlemen never forget their servants, Temple. Let's drink lots more champagne. I wish you and I were knights riding across that country there, as they used to, and you saying, “I wonder whether your father's at home in the castle expecting our arrival.”'