“Ah, Troup, old man,” and such-like greetings. Boys he had punished yesterday he received quite as warmly now as the most immaculate of the virtuous ones, and boys who had cheeked him two hours ago in the fields he shook hands with as cordially as he did with the most loyal of his adherents.
There was a pause as the last of the Middle school descended from the dais, and the Den, headed by the resplendent Culver, advanced. Templeton tried to look grave and remember its good manners, but it was an effort under such an array of glory. Culver himself, with his borrowed coat so tight under the arms that he could not keep his elbows down, and his waistcoat pinned back so far that the empty button-hole in his front quite put the studded ones to shame, might have passed in a crowd; but Gosse, with his hair parted in the middle and his “whisker” elaborately curled; Pauncefote, with his light blue silk handkerchief protruding half out of his waistcoat pocket; and Smith, with the cuffs that hid the tips of his fingers, were beyond gravity, and a suppressed titter followed the grandees up the hall and on to the platform.
Pontifex received them all with serene affability and good breeding.
“Hullo, youngster!” said he to Culver, not even bestowing a glance on his finery: “hope to see you in an eleven this season. Ah, Gosse, my boy; quiet as ever, eh? You’re an inch taller than last levée. How are you, Pauncefote? How are you, Smith? How goes the novel? not dead, I hope?”
“No; it’s going on,” said Pauncefote, blushing.
“Put me down for a copy,” said the captain. “Hullo! here come the new boys.”
Time did not appear to have endowed our heroes yet with confidence or elegance in the art of ascending the Templeton platform. Dick still retained a painful recollection of his legs, and Heathcote was torn asunder by the cruel vagaries of his high collar, which would not keep on the button, but insisted on heeling over, choker and all, at critical moments to one side. Aspinall made a more respectable show, for he was too nervous to bestow a thought on his dress, or to notice the curious eyes turned upon him from remote corners.
New boys were always presented by their seniors, and it was a critical moment when Cresswell, taking Dick and Aspinall, one by each arm, said in an audible voice:—
“Captain, allow me to introduce Mr Richardson and Mr Aspinall, two new boys.”
Dick bowed as gracefully as he could, and watched the captain’s hand sharply, in case it might show signs of expecting to be shaken, which it did, with a cheery—