“Very much more,” said the boy.
“And would you politely favour this company,” said Henderson, with obsequious courtesy, “by revealing to us your name?”
“My name is Howard Tracy.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Henderson, with an air of great satisfaction, and making a low bow.
“I am called Howard Tracy because I am descended lineally from both those noble families.”
“My goodness! are you really!” said Henderson, clasping his hands in mock transport. “My dear sir, you are an honour to your race and country! you are an honour to this school. By Jove, we are proud, sir, to have you among us!”
“Perhaps you may not know that my uncle is the Viscount Saint George,” said Tracy patronisingly.
“Is he, though, by George!” said Henderson yawning. “Is that Saint George who—
“‘Swinged the dragon, and e’er since
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess’ door?’”
But finding that the boy’s vanity was too obtuse to be amusing any longer, he was about to leave him to the rest, when Jones caught sight of Walter, and called out:—