The other pursed up his lips and leaned his head to one side, as though to imply that such a course would be a bold one. “Will you put his name on your list?” “I don't know,” muttered the other. “I suspect we can do it better. Where have you been educated, Mr. Butler?” “At home, principally.” “Never at any public school?” “Never, except you call a village school a public one.” Brand's eyes glistened, and Baynes's returned the sparkle. “Are you a proficient in French?” “Far from it. I could spell out a fable, or a page of 'Telemachus,' and even that would push me hard.” “Do you write a good hand?” “It is legible, but it's no beauty.” “And your arithmetic?” “Pretty much like my French,--the less said about it the better.” “I think that will do, Brand,” whispered Baynes. The other nodded, and muttered, “Of course; and it is the best way to do it.” “These are the points, Mr. Butler,” he continued, giving him a printed paper, “on which you will have to satisfy the Civil Service Commissioners; they are, as you see, not very numerous nor very difficult. A certificate as to general conduct and character--British subject--some knowledge of foreign languages--the first four rules of arithmetic--and that you are able to ride--” “Thank Heaven, there is one thing I can do; and if you ask the Commissioners to take a cast 'cross country, I 'll promise them a breather.” Tony never noticed--nor, had he noticed, had he cared for--the grave austerity of the heads of departments at this outburst of enthusiasm. He was too full of his own happiness, and too eager to share it with his mother. As he gained the street, Skeffington passed his arm through his, and walked along with him, offering him his cordial gratulations, and giving him many wise and prudent counsels, though unfortunately, from the state of ignorance of Tony's mind, these latter were lamentably unprofitable. It was of “the Office” that he warned him,--of its tempers, its caprices, its rancors, and its jealousies, till, lost in the maze of his confusion, poor Tony began to regard it as a beast of ill-omened and savage passions,--a great monster, in fact, who lived on the bones and flesh of ardent and high-hearted youths, drying up the springs of their existence, and exhausting their brains out of mere malevolence. Out of all the farrago that he listened to, all that he could collect was, “that he was one of those fellows that the chiefs always hated and invariably crushed.” Why destiny should have marked him out for such odium--why he was born to be strangled by red tape, Tony could not guess, nor, to say truth, did he trouble himself to inquire; but, resisting a pressing invitation to dine with Skeffington at his club, he hastened to his room to write his good news to his mother.