‘Conceal it, sir.’

’And I demand, in obedience to my duty, that you instantly exhibit it for my inspection, now, here, at once; no parleying; unbutton, or I call Mr. Rippenger to compel you.’

I was standing close by my brave Heriot, rather trembling, studious of his manfulness though I was.  His left foot was firmly in advance, as he said, just in the manner to start an usher furious: 

’I concealed it, I conceal it; I was carrying it, I carry it:  you demand that I exhibit for your inspection what I mean no Boddy to see?  I have to assure you respectfully, sir, that family portraits are sacred things with the sons of gentlemen.  Here, Richie, off!’

I found the portrait in my hand, and Heriot between me and the usher, in the attitude of a fellow keeping another out of his home at prisoner’s-base.  He had spied Mr. Rippenger’s head at the playground gate.  I had just time to see Heriot and the usher in collision before I ran through the gate and into Julia’s arms in her garden, whither the dreadful prospect of an approaching catastrophe had attracted her.

Heriot was merely reported guilty of insolence.  He took his five hundred lines of Virgil with his usual sarcastic dignity:  all he said to Mr. Rippenger was, ‘Let it be about Dido, sir,’ which set several of the boys upon Dido’s history, but Heriot was condemned to the battles with Turnus.  My share in this event secured Heriot’s friendship to me without costing me the slightest inconvenience.  ‘Papa would never punish you,’ Julia said; and I felt my rank.  Nor was it wonderful I should when Mr. Rippenger was constantly speaking of my father’s magnificence in my presence before company.  Allowed to draw on him largely for pocket-money, I maintained my father’s princely reputation in the school.  At times, especially when the holidays arrived and I was left alone with Julia, I had fits of mournfulness, and almost thought the boys happier than I was.  Going home began to seem an unattainable thing to me.  Having a father, too, a regular father, instead of a dazzling angel that appeared at intervals, I considered a benefaction, in its way, some recompense to the boys, for their not possessing one like mine.  My anxiety was relieved by my writing letters to my father, addressed to the care of Miss Julia Rippenger, and posting them in her work-basket.  She favoured me with very funny replies, signed, ‘Your own ever-loving Papa,’ about his being engaged killing Bengal tigers and capturing white elephants, a noble occupation that gave me exciting and consolatory dreams of him.

We had at last a real letter of his, dated from a foreign city; but he mentioned nothing of coming to me.  I understood that Mr. Rippenger was disappointed with it.