‘They lived close on a thousand years, hale, hearty—­and no water!’ said the chairman.

‘Well!’ exclaimed one, some way down the table, a young farmer, red as a cock’s comb:  ’no fools they, eh, master?  Where there’s ale, would you drink water, my hearty?’ and back he leaned to enjoy the tribute to his wit; a wit not remarkable, but nevertheless sufficient in the noise it created to excite the envy of Mr. Raikes, who, inveterately silly when not engaged in a contest, now began to play on the names of the sons of Noah.

The chairman lanced a keen light at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

Before long he had again to call two parties to order.  To Raikes, Laxley was a puppy:  to Laxley, Mr. Raikes was a snob.  The antagonism was natural:  ale did but put the match to the magazine.  But previous to an explosion, Laxley, who had observed Evan’s disgust at Jack’s exhibition of himself, and had been led to think, by his conduct and clothes in conjunction, that Evan was his own equal; a gentleman condescending to the society of a low-born acquaintance;—­had sought with sundry propitiations, intelligent glances, light shrugs, and such like, to divide Evan from Jack.  He did this, doubtless, because he partly sympathized with Evan, and to assure him that he took a separate view of him.  Probably Evan was already offended, or he held to Jack, as a comrade should, or else it was that Tailordom and the pride of his accepted humiliation bellowed in his ears, every fresh minute:  ’Nothing assume!’ I incline to think that the more ale he drank the fiercer rebel he grew against conventional ideas of rank, and those class-barriers which we scorn so vehemently when we find ourselves kicking at them.  Whatsoever the reason that prompted him, he did not respond to Laxley’s advances; and Laxley, disregarding him, dealt with Raikes alone.

In a tone plainly directed at him, he said:  ’Well, Harry, tired of this?  The agriculturals are good fun, but I can’t stand much of the small cockney.  A blackguard who tries to make jokes out of the Scriptures ought to be kicked!’

Harry rejoined, with wet lips:  ’Wopping stuff, this ale!  Who’s that you want to kick?’

‘Somebody who objects to his bray, I suppose,’ Mr. Raikes struck in, across the table, negligently thrusting out his elbow to support his head.

‘Did you allude to me, sir?’ Laxley inquired.

‘I alluded to a donkey, sir.’  Raikes lifted his eyelids to the same level as Laxley’s:  ‘a passing remark on that interesting animal.’

His friend Harry now came into the ring to try a fall.

‘Are you an usher in a school?’ he asked, meaning by his looks what men of science in fisticuffs call business.

Mr. Raikes started in amazement.  He recovered as quickly.

’No, sir, not quite; but I have no doubt I should be able to instruct you upon a point or two.’

‘Good manners, for instance?’ remarked the third young cricketer, without disturbing his habitual smile.