the hands moved with almost incredible rapidity. But when does time
ever fly so fast as with people who are talking about themselves or
their relations?

Once the mathematical master passed through the room. He glanced at us
curiously, but Weston's face was inscrutable, and I--tracing some
surprise that I should have secured so old and so fine-mannered a boy
for a friend--held up my head, and went on with my narrative, as
fluently as I could, to show that I had parts which justified Weston
in his preference.

Tick, tack! went the clock. Click, clack! went my tongue. I fear that
quite half-an-hour must have passed, when a big boy, with an open
face, blue eyes, and closely curling fair hair, burst in. On seeing us
he exclaimed, "Hulloh!" and then stopped, I suspect in obedience to
Weston's eyes, which met his in a brief but expressive gaze. Then
Weston turned to me.

"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