. But he
possesses the supreme merit of being absolutely and transparently
honest. I have never known him tell a lie or do a mean thing. To such
much is forgiven.

At present he appears to possess only two ambitions in life; one, to
gain a place in his Junior House Fifteen, and the other, to score some
signal and lasting victory over his form-master, a Mr Sydney Mellar,
with whom he appears to wage a sort of perpetual guerilla warfare. Every
vacation brings him home with a fresh tale of base subterfuges, petty
tyrannies, and childish exhibitions of spite on the part of the infamous
Mellar, all duly frustrated, crushed, and made ridiculous by the
ingenuity, resource, and audacity of the intrepid Rubislaw. I have never
met Mr Mellar in the flesh, but I am conscious, as time goes on and my
young relative's reminiscences on the subject accumulate, of an
increasing feeling of admiration and respect for him.

"He's a rotten brute," observed Gerald one day. "Do you know what he had
the cheek to do last term?"

"What?"

"Well, there was a clinking new desk put into our form-room, at the
back. I sit there," he added rather _naively_. "As soon as I saw it, of
course I got out my knife and started to carve my name. I made good big
letters, as I wanted to do the thing properly on a fine new desk like
that."

"Was this during school hours?" I ventured to inquire.

"Of course it was. Do you think a chap would be such a silly ass as to
want to come in specially to carve his name during play-hours, when he's
got the whole of his school-time to do it in?"

"I had not thought of that," I said apologetically.

"And don't go putting on side of that sort, Adrian, old man," roared
Gerald, in what a stranger would have regarded as a most threatening
voice, though I knew it was merely the one he keeps for moments of
playful badinage. "I saw _your_ name carved in letters about four inches
high in the Fifth Form room only the other day. I don't see how you can
jaw a man for doing a thing you used to do yourself thirty or forty
years ago."

I allowed this reflection on my appearance to pass without protest, and
Gerald resumed his story.

"Well, I did a first-class G to begin with, and was well on with the
Rubislaw--all in capitals: I thought it would look best that way--when
suddenly a great hand reached over my shoulder and grabbed my knife. It
was Stinker, of course."

"St----"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that. We call him 'Stin