“Allow me,” said he, “to introduce Mr. Thomas Johnson.  He bears a very high character in this school, and it will afford him the keenest satisfaction to hear an authentic account of such a man as your esteemed father, whose character should be held up for the imitation of young gentlemen in every establishment for the education of youth.”

I blushed with pride and somewhat with nervousness as Mr. Thomas Johnson seated himself on the locker on the other side of me and begged (with less elegance of expression than my first friend) that I would “go ahead.”

I did so.  But a very few minutes exhausted the patience of my new hearer.  When he had kicked a loose splinter of wood satisfactorily off the leg of one of the desks he began to look at the clock, which quickened my pace from my remoter ancestors to what the colonel of the regiment in which my father was an ensign had said of him.  I completed my narrative at last with the lawyer’s remark, and added, “and everybody says the same.  And that is why my father had ’The Honourable’ before his name, just as—­” &c., &c.

I had no sooner uttered these words than Johnson started from his seat, and, covering his face with a spotted silk pocket-handkerchief, rushed precipitately from the school-room.  For one brief instant I fancied I heard him choking with laughter, but when I turned to Weston he got up too, with a look of deep concern.  “Mr. Johnson is taken very unwell, I fear,” said he.  “It is a peculiar kind of spasm to which he is subject.  Excuse me!”

He hurried anxiously after his friend, and I was left alone in the school-room, into which the other boys shortly began to pour.

“Have you been all alone, old fellow?” said Rupert kindly; “I hoped you had picked up a chum.”

“So I have,” was my proud reply; “two chums.”

“I hope they’re decent fellows,” said Rupert. (He had a most pestilent trick of perpetually playing monitor, to the wet-blanketing of all good fellowship.)

“You know best,” said I pertly; “it’s Weston and Johnson.  We’ve been together a long time.”

“Weston?” cried Rupert.  “I hope to goodness, Charlie, you’ve not been playing the fool?”

“You can ask them,” said I, and tossing my head I went to my proper place.

For the rest of school-time I wore a lofty and Rupert an anxious demeanour.  Secure on the level of a higher friendship, I was mean enough to snub the friendly advances of one or two of the younger boys.

When we went home at night, I found my mother much more ready than Rupert to believe that my merits had gained for me the regard of two of the upper boys.  I was exultingly happy.  Not a qualm disturbed the waking dreams in which (after I was in bed) I retold my family tale at even greater length than before, except that I remembered one or two incidents, which in the excitement of the hour I had forgotten when in school.