It is sad to relate that two grown-up girls were worsted by this scrap of manhood wearing to-day manly garb for the first time. Sydney rose from her knees and went toward the library. “I will ask St. Quentin,” she said, feeling rather small.
Her cousin seemed rather tickled by the story of the fight.
“Oh, bring him to me, by all means!” he said. “Upon my word! that boy ought to make a Prime Minister. He has enough force of character for anything. Tell him the ‘ill one’ will be charmed to see the trousers!”
Sydney led the boy in, whispering to him not to make a noise, for Lord St. Quentin was very tired.
“Never make a noise,” he assured her, without much regard for truth.
St. Quentin surveyed his small visitor with fixed and flattering attention. “Hullo!” he said, “what’s this huge chap coming in? The Vicar himself, I suppose? Oh, his son, is it, Sydney? Well, how are you, eh, Paul? Is that your name? Going to shake hands with me—that’s right. I suppose you’re seven at least, aren’t you?”
“I am five,” Pauly said, with modest elation.
“Dear me! and I’m thirty-five and not half so proud of it. And these are the new trousers. Upon my word! they’re remarkably fine specimens, aren’t they, Sydney? You want a pinch for your new clothes, don’t you, youngster? or would you rather have a sixpence to put into each of those trouser pockets? What, you would rather have the sixpences? That’s odd, isn’t it? There, put them in your pockets, and now you may run away; only don’t eat quite all the cake Miss Lisle has provided for you, or you won’t be able to walk home! He looks as if he eats too much already,” he concluded aside to Sydney. “What a colour the child has!”
“He is a good deal redder than usual, and fatter-looking too,” Sydney said. “I have never seen him look quite like this before.”