CHAPTER IV.
“THE HUMBLE FRIEND.”
“CÆSAR will be the death of Dash some day, Tot,” said Nelly Pollard to her favourite brother—not a little boy in petticoats, as his name might imply, but a young man upwards of six feet, and “bearded like the pard.” The origin of his inappropriate name was capable of easy explanation, when it came to be investigated. He had been christened Reginald—an imposing and euphonious title which his numerous brothers and sisters in the nursery abbreviated unceremoniously to “Wretch.” The child naturally objecting to this corruption, an indulgent mother substituted the neutral epithet “Tot,” which was in keeping with a mite in a white frock and blue shoes; but “Tot,” in spite of the glaring discrepancy, stuck to the man after he had attained his full stature, and the frock and the shoes had been exchanged for a frock-coat and Blücher boots.
“I am afraid that will be about it,” said Tot, with all a man’s barbarous sang-froid, in marked contrast to the accent of trepidation and terror with which Nelly had spoken.
“Serve him right. Why need he play Boswell unasked to Cæsar’s Johnson?”
“But if father would only see that Cæsar is a dreadful brute, and have him put away in time to save Dash,” she said pleadingly.