‘Papa!’ cried Maurice, ’I know it is Macheath, for Mr. Tritton showed him to Gilbert and me, when he had just got him, and said he was a showy beast, but incurably lame, so he should get what he could for him from Laing.  Now, James, isn’t it?’ he called to the servant who was sedulously turning away a grinning face, but just muttered, ‘Same, sir.’

Mr. Kendal charitably looked the other way, and Algernon muttered some species of imprecation.

Thenceforth Maurice took every occasion of inquiring what had become of Macheath, whether Laing had refunded the price, and what had been done to him for telling stories.

If the boy began in innocence, he went on in mischief; he was just old enough to be a most aggravating compound of simplicity and malice.  He was fully aware that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy was held cheap by his own favourites, and had been partly the cause of his dear Gilbert’s troubles, and his sharp wits and daring nature were excited to the utmost by the solemn irritation that he produced.  Not only was it irresistibly droll to tease one so destitute of fun, but he had the strongest desire to see how angry it was possible to make the big brother-in-law, of whom every one seemed in awe.

First, he had recourse to the old term Polysyllable, and when Lucy remonstrated, he answered, ’I’ve a right to call my brother what I please.’

‘You know how angry mamma would be to hear you.’

‘Mamma calls him the Polysyllable herself,’ said Maurice, looking full at his victim.

Lucy, who would have given the world to hinder this epithet from coming to her husband’s knowledge, began explaining something about Gilbert’s nonsense before he knew him, and how it had been long disused.

‘That’s not true, Lucy,’ quoth the tormentor.  ’I heard mamma tell Sophy herself this morning to write for some fish-sauce, because she said that Polysyllable was so fanciful about his dinner.’

Lucy was ready to cry, and Algernon, endeavouring to recal his usual dignity, exclaimed, ’If Mrs. Kendal—­I mean, Mrs. Kendal has it in her power to take liberties, but if I find you repeating such again, you little imp, it shall be at your risk.’

‘What will you do to me?’ asked the sturdy varlet.

‘Dear Maurice, I hope you’ll never know!  Pray don’t try!’ cried Lucy; but if she had had any knowledge of character, she would have seen that she had only provoked the little Berserkar’s curiosity, and had made him determined on proving the undefined threat.  So the unfortunate Algernon seldom descended the stairs without two childish faces being protruded from the balusters of the nursery-flight over-head, pursuing him with hissing whispers of ‘Polysyllable’ and ‘Polly-silly,’ and if he ventured on indignant gestures, Maurice returned them with nutcracker grimaces and provoking assurances to his little sister that he could not hurt her.