"I say," he began, "you'll catch it. That's not your desk."

I was aware of that, and devoutly hoped the real owner would not arrive on the scene.

"If Tinker kotches you-- Hullo, what _have_ you done with your patent boots?"

"I've changed them," said I; "but do you think Tinker's coming?"

"We'll keep him out if he does--"

Just then one of the seniors on the front form, who had been talking to Tempest, leant back, and said in a loud whisper to the boy at the end of the form in front of ours--

"White, see all the new kids have their gloves on properly."

Gloves? I felt my teeth begin to chatter in my head.

Had I not flung my gloves along with my hat and boots into my trunk, thinking they would not be needed? I had considered them as part of Tempest's little joke. But evidently I had made a fearful mistake. For the senior who had given the admonition was not Tempest at all, but his next neighbour; and the fact that it was not given to me but to a monitor made it clear that, however I had been humbugged over the other details of "form," gloves were the order of the day for new boys at first call-over.

In a panic I rose and tried to go out, with the wild idea of rescuing my gloves from my trunk. But it was impossible to escape. Not only had my companion his feet up more uncompromisingly than ever, but my sudden movement called down upon me general remarks.

"Shut up I sit down, can't you?" said my neighbour. "What are you up to?"

"My gloves--I've--I've left them upstairs."

"Your what?"

"Gloves. I thought it was a mistake about new boys having to wear them, and didn't bring them."

The boy looked grave.

"Oh, you'll catch it! You can't go now. There's Sharpe coming in.

Haven't you got any at all?"

"Only my ordinary gloves."

"What colour?"

"Yellow."

"Stick them on then."

"But they've only two b.u.t.tons."

"Can't be helped. You're bound to catch it, but they're better than nothing."

So, in dire agitation, I drew on my new dog-skin gloves. The smiles of the boys near me I interpreted as a grim recognition that I had "shirked form" and did not know any better. I longed to explain that I did, and that I had not come to Low Heath as ignorant as they supposed. But it was impossible. Mr Sharpe was already in his place, and "register" had begun.

Register, a ceremony with which I was destined to become painfully familiar in time, consisted in the calling over of the names of all the boys in the house, in order of place, by the minor prefect, who took his stand at the side of the master's desk for the purpose. Instead of answering "Here" or "Adsum," in the usual way, the boy whose name was called stood in his place and held up his hand.

I had been so preoccupied with the lack of my six-b.u.t.ton lavender gloves and the remarks of my two left-hand neighbours, that I had failed altogether to observe the boy on my right, who now quietly nudged me, and presented to my astonished gaze the serene and serious countenance of d.i.c.ky Brown.

"What have you got your gloves on for?" inquired he, as if he had seen me daily since we parted.

"It's the form. Haven't you got any? I say, you'll get in a jolly row," said I, quite delighted to 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 d.i.c.ky, I wondered, seen my square billyc.o.c.k?

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 d.i.c.ky 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 d.i.c.ky, 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-b.u.t.ton 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 a.s.sembled house; "I've left my lavender six-b.u.t.ton gloves in my trunk."

Mr Sharpe's mouth curled at the corner in a curious way, and a general t.i.tter greeted my explanation from the benches behind.

I was fully convinced now that, after all my care, the very solecism I had planned so carefully to avoid had tripped me up at last.

"Take them off at once, sir, and let me have no more of this foolishness. You are making a bad start. Were you not the boy I had to speak to in the hall this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir. I am sorry I kicked your shins. I hope I didn't hurt much.

I thought you were one of the boys."

I am sure I meant no harm by it, but he seemed to regard this as a studied insult, and visited me with his wrath not only for it but for the smiles from the boys behind which accompanied it.

"What is this boy's name?" he inquired severely, looking round.

I wondered who would answer the question; it was evidently not intended for me. It astonished me that Mr Sharpe should not apply at headquarters; I am sure I could have told him. "I think," said a voice which I recognised as Tempest's, "his name is Jones, sir."

Think! Surely Tempest might have had a little more confidence than that.