The next business was to assign him a seat. A few questions as to what he knew showed that his proper place was in the junior class of all, and there accordingly Mr. Garrison led him. A vacancy was found for him in a long range of seats, extending from the door almost up to the desk, and he was bidden sit down beside a boy who had been eyeing him with lively curiosity from the moment of his entrance into the room. So soon as Mr. Garrison went away, this boy opened fire upon the new-comer.
"Say, sonny, whats yer name?" he asked, with unhesitating abruptness.
Bert looked the questioner all over before replying. He was a short, stout, stubble-haired chap, evidently a year or two older than himself, with a broad, good-humoured face, and the inspection being, upon the whole, satisfactory, Bert replied, very pleasantly:
"Bert Lloyd—and what's yours?"
Ignoring the question put to him, the other boy gave a sort of grunt that might be taken as an expression of approval of his new schoolmate's name, and then said:
"Guess you don't live down our way; never seen you before, that I know of."
"I live in Fort Street. Where do you live?" replied Bert, giving question for question.
"I'm a West-ender," said the other, meaning that his home was in the western part of the city.
"But whats your name?" asked Bert again.
"Oh, my name's Frank Bowser," was the careless reply. "But everybody calls me 'Shorty,' and you may as well, too."