"Stanley."
"And that fellow on the floor?"
"Woodman," said James Wren. "I say, Woodman, don't you hear? Can't you get up when you're spoken to?"
Woodman shut his book, keeping, however, a finger in the place, and got up awkwardly. He was one of the smallest of the boys, but he wore long trousers, and beneath them irons which jingled as he came forward with a shambling waddle. He had a queer little face, dark eyes and the lightest of hair; and he blushed a little as, alone among the boys, but clearly unconscious of the fact, he proceeded to shake hands with the new master.
"So you are Woodman?" said Harry.
"Yes, sir," said the boy. "Have you come instead of Mr. Scrafton, sir?"
"No, I have come as well."
At this there were groans, of which Harry thought it best to take no notice. He observed, however, that Woodman was not among the groaners, and to get upon safe ground he asked him what the book was.
"One of Ballantyne's, sir. It's magnificent!" And the dark eyes glowed like coals in what was again a very pale face.
"The Red Eric," said Harry, glancing at the book. "I remember it well. You're in an exciting place, eh?"