"Gus," he answered.
"It were your father, wer'n't it, as were buried yesterday?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. Is it true what the folks were a-sayin', that he were a broken-down gent, one of the swells?"
"He was a gentleman once," said Gus.
"A gentleman! My word! What do you call yoursel'? P'raps you're a gent too?"
"No, I'm not," said Gus; "but I mean to be a gentleman some day."
"Well, if that ain't good! Look here, all you fellers, this chap says he's goin' to be a gentleman. Don't he look it just? Look at his breeches, look at his shoes! Oh, what a fine gentleman! Do hold me, some one, I shall die of laughin'!"
The other boys roared with laughter as they gathered about Gus. He had a sorry time of it. In vain he tried to escape from his tormentors; they were all bigger and stronger than he, and when, hot with rage, he tried to strike out with his tiny fists, their mirth increased tenfold. They danced round him, they pelted him with mud, they plucked at his garments till the rents therein were double their former size, and all the while they shouted—"Gentleman, Gentleman Gus!"—till their voices were hoarse.
Gus had won for himself a name. The title thus dubbed clung to him. Henceforth he was known at Lavender Terrace as "Gentleman Gus."