Dick was not superstitious. He had scoffed at the Templeton ghost when he first heard of it, and made up his mind long since it was a bogey kept for the benefit of new boys.
But it certainly gave him a start to find himself, at this late period of the term, when he had almost forgotten he ever was a new boy, pitched upon as the recipient of one of these mysterious missives.
The letter inside was written in printed characters, like those addressed to Heathcote.
“Dick,” it began.
“Hallo,” thought Dick to himself, “rather cheek of a ghost to call a fellow by his Christian name, isn’t it?”
“Dick,—Don’t be a fool. You were a fine fellow when you came. What are you now? Don’t let fellows lead you astray. You can be a fine fellow without being a bad one. Let the ‘Sociables’ alone. They’ll teach you to be a cad. If you don’t care for yourself, think of Heathcote, who only needs your encouragement to make a worse failure than he has made already. Save him from Pledge. Then you’ll be a fine fellow, with a vengeance. Your real friend,—
“Junius.
“P.S.—Translate ‘Dominat qui in se dominatur.’”
The first thing that struck Dick about this extraordinary epistle was, that it was odd the ghost should write his letters on Templeton exercise paper. It then occurred to him that it was rather rough to put him through his paces in Latin idioms at a time like this. Couldn’t the ghost get a dictionary, or ask a senior, and find out for himself?
It then occurred to him, who on earth was it who had written to him like this? Some one who knew him, that was certain; and he almost fancied it must be some one who liked him, for a fellow wouldn’t take the trouble to tell him he was a fine fellow at the beginning of the term, and all that sort of thing, unless he had a fancy for him.