The Hill | Page 6

And why the deuce hasn't he turned up?"
The clanging of a bell brought both boys to their feet.
"Lock-up, and call-over," said Scaife. "Come on!"
They pushed their way down the passage. Several boys addressed
Scaife.
"Hullo, Demon!--Here's the old Demon!--Demon, I thought you were
going to be sacked!"
To these and other sallies Scaife replied with his slightly ironical smile.
John perceived that his companion was popular and at the same time
peculiar; quite different from any boy he had yet met.
They filed into a big room--the dining-room of the house--a square,

lofty hall, with three long tables in it. On the walls hung some portraits
of famous Old Harrovians. As a room it was disappointing at first sight,
almost commonplace. But in it, John soon found out, everything for
weal or woe which concerned the Manor had taken place or had been
discussed. There were two fireplaces and two large doors. The boys
passed through one door; upon the threshold of the other stood the
butler, holding a silver salver, with a sheet of paper on it.
"What cheek!" murmured Scaife.
"Eh?" said John.
"Dirty Dick isn't here. Just like him, the slacker! And when he does
come over on our side of the House, he slimes about in carpet
slippers--the beast!"
Lawrence entered as Scaife spoke. John saw that his strongly-marked
eyebrows went up, when he perceived the butler. He approached, and
took the sheet of paper. The butler said impressively--
"Mr. Rutford is busy. Will you call over, sir?"
At any rate, the butler, Dumbleton, was worthy of the best traditions of
the Manor. He had a shrewd, clean-shaven face, and the deportment of
an archbishop. The Head of the House took the paper, and began to call
over the names. Each boy, as his name was called, said, "Here," or, if
he wished to be funny, "Here, sir!"
"Verney?"
The name rang out crisply.
"Here, sir," said John.
The Head of the House eyed him sharply.
"Kinloch?"
No answer.

"Kinloch?"
Scaife answered dryly: "Kinloch's portmanteau has come." Then
Dumbleton said in his smooth, bland voice, "His lordship is in the
drawing-room with Mr. Rutford."
The boys exchanged knowing glances. Scaife looked contemptuous.
The next moment the last name had been called, and the boys scurried
into the passages. Lawrence was the first to leave the hall. Impulsively,
John rushed up to him.
"I didn't mean to be funny, I didn't really," he panted.
"Quite right. It doesn't pay," Lawrence smiled grimly, "for new boys to
be funny. I saw you didn't mean it."
Lawrence spoke in a loud voice. John realized that he had so spoken
purposely, trying to wipe out a new boy's first blunder.
"Thanks awfully," said John.
He reached his room to find three other boys busily engaged in abusing
their house-master. They took no notice of John, who leaned against
the wall.
"His lordship is in the drawing-room with Mr. Rutford."
A freckle-faced, red-headed youth, with a big elastic mouth had
imitated Dumbleton admirably.
"What a snob Dick is!" drawled a very tall, very thin,
aristocratic-looking boy.
"And a fool," added Scaife. "This sort of thing makes him loathed."
"It is a sell his being here."
All three fell to talking. The question still festering in John's mind was
answered within a minute. The "brute" was Rutford. Towards the end

of the previous term gossip had it that the master of the Manor had
been offered an appointment elsewhere. Whereat the worthier spirits in
the ancient house rejoiced. Now the joy was turned into wailing and
gnashing of teeth.
"Is he a beast to us?" said John.
The freckle-faced boy answered affably, "That depends. His Imperial
Highness"--he kicked the new portmanteau hard--"will not find Mr.
Richard Rutford a beast. Far from it. And he's civil to the Demon,
because his papa is a man of many shekels. But to mere outsiders, like
myself, a beast of beasts; ay, the very king of beasts, is--Dirty Dick."
And then--oh, horrors!--the door of No. 15 opened, and Rutford
appeared, followed by a seemingly young and very fashionably dressed
lady. The boys jumped to their feet. All, except Scaife, looked
preternaturally solemn. The house-master nodded carelessly.
"This is Scaife, Duchess," he said in his thick, rasping tones. "Scaife
and Verney, let me present you to the Duchess of Trent."
He mouthed the illustrious name, as if it were a large and ripe
greengage.
The duchess advanced, smiling graciously. "These"--Rutford named the
other boys--"are Egerton, Lovell, and--er--Duff."
Scaife, alone of those present, appreciated the order in which his
schoolfellows had been named. Egerton--known as the Caterpillar--was
the son of a Guardsman; Lovell's father was a judge; Duff's father an
obscure parson.
The duchess shook hands with each boy. "Your father and I are old
friends," she said