"'I am Mr. Moncrief,' said that gentleman, stepping forward."
"I've brought a letter from your brother, Mr. Henry Moncrief. He couldn't bring it himself, because of an accident——"
"An accident?"
"Nothing very serious, sir. A sprain, I think. He asked me to take the letter for him, and as he's the father of a school chum of mine, Stan Moncrief; I brought it along, and here it is," Paul explained rapidly, as he handed Mr. Moncrief the letter.
Paul had by this time entered the room. Directly Mr. Moncrief glanced at the letter his face became very grave. He went from the room, and his wife followed him, evidently as anxious as himself to know the contents. The servants retired, and Paul was thus left alone with the boy and girl.
There was not the least shyness about the former, for directly his parents left the room, he came forward and introduced himself.
"I'm Harry Moncrief—named after the uncle you brought that letter from. He was my godfather, you know. This is my sister, Connie." Connie, who was a pretty, fair girl, looked embarrassed at her brother's blunt method of introduction, but he rattled on. "Rather good for a girl. Not so slow as most of them. Can take a turn with the bells or clubs"—by bells and clubs was meant dumb-bells and Indian-clubs—"and she can scout at cricket. Didn't I hear you say you were a chum of cousin Stanley's?"
"Yes; we're in the same Form."
"What—at Garside School?" asked the boy eagerly.
Paul nodded.
"Hurrah!—hurrah!" cried Harry. "I'm going to Garside next term. I've left Gaffer Quelch's, thank goodness!"—Gaffer Quelch's was a college for juvenile scholars in the neighbourhood—"and I'm going to see life at Garside."
Paul could not help smiling at the boy's idea of "seeing life," and the high and exalted notion he seemed to have of Garside.
"Do you know young Plunger? He used to be my chum at Quelch's, but he left there a term ago, and went to Garside. That's another reason I'm going there. Things are awfully slow at Quelch's since Plunger left He's a big pot at Garside, isn't he?"
"Very," answered Paul drily.
Paul knew young Plunger well enough. He was in one of the junior Forms. Though he had been at Garside only a term, he had almost succeeded in creating a record for the number of scrapes into which he had got during that short period.
"Cousin Stan being so high up in the school, I don't want to let him down, you know, by making any mistakes when I get to Garside," Harry rattled on. "I want to do things in correct form, you see; for if I let myself down, I let Stan down. So I asked Plunger the right thing to do on going to Garside. Plunger's an awfully good sort of fellow, so he took the trouble to write down for me what ought to be done; but I wasn't to show it to any one here, for some of the things are school secrets, he tells me."
Connie had discreetly withdrawn from the room, leaving Paul and her brother together. The latter, however, glanced round to make sure they were quite alone before he drew from his pocket the mysterious document which Plunger had written for his instruction on entering Garside School.
"1. Trousers to be turned up at bottom three inches.
"2. Spats on boots (patents).
"3. White waistcoat. Eton jacket.
"4. Introduce yourself to Bax, the porter, by giving him two slaps on the back and a dig with right-hand forefinger in ribs. Give him following particulars: Age and weight. Whether vaccinated—show marks. Give also measurement of biceps and chest.
"5. On seeing Mrs. Trounce (matron) go down on right knee, and present her with your portrait (for school album). Write on bottom of card, in clear handwriting, 'With love and kind regards.'
"6. Two shillings to be left at Billiter's for 'footing,' etc."
Paul could scarcely refrain from smiling at the code of rules which the audacious Plunger had drawn up for his chum's instruction, the more so as Harry, who had never been to a public school, seemed to take them in all seriousness.
"You've been through it all, of course?" said Harry, as Paul handed the rules back to him. "Kind of Plunger to take so much trouble, isn't it?"
Paul was on the point of answering as Mr. Moncrief entered the room.
Harry hastily thrust the paper out of sight.