r of cases for
this fool here, and look after him. Off you go! and off _you_ go,"
added he, rounding on Reginald, "and if we don't make it hot for you
among us I'm precious mistaken."

It was a proud moment certainly for the cock of the fifth at Wilderham
to find himself following meekly at the heels of a youngster like Gedge,
who had been commissioned to put him to work and look after him. But
Reginald was too sick at heart and disgusted to care what became of
himself, as long as Mr Durfy's odious voice ceased to torment his ears.
The only thing he did care about was what was to become of Horace. Was
he to be put in charge of some one too, or was he to remain a printer's
devil?

Mr Durfy soon answered that question.

"What are you standing there for?" demanded he, turning round on the
younger brother as soon as he had disposed of the elder. "Go down to
the manager's room at once; you're not wanted here."

So they were to be separated! There was only time to exchange one
glance of mutual commiseration and then Horace slowly left the room with
sad forebodings, more on his brother's account than his own, and feeling
that as far as helping one another was concerned they might as well be
doomed to serve their time at opposite ends of London.

Gedge, under whose imposing auspices Reginald was to begin his
typographical career, was a diminutive youth who, to all outward
appearances, was somewhere about the tender age of fourteen, instead of,
as was really the case, being almost as old as Reginald himself. He was
facetiously styled "Magog" by his shopmates, in allusion to his small
stature, which required the assistance of a good-sized box under his
feet to enable him to reach his "upper case." His face was not an
unpleasant one, and his voice, which still retained its boyish treble,
was an agreeable contrast to that of most of the "gentlemen of the case"
in Mr Durfy's department.

For all that, Reginald considered himself much outraged by being put in
charge of this chit of a child, and glowered down on him much as a
mastiff might glower on a terrier who presumed to do the honour of his
back yard for his benefit.

However, the terrier in this case was not at all disheartened by his
reception, and said cheerily as he began to clear the frame,--

"You don't seem to fancy it, I say. I don't wonder. Never mind, I
shan't lick you unless you make me."

"Thanks," said Reginald, drily, but scarcely able to conceal