k. Hullo! what's up down there?"

This last question was caused by the slight excitement of Den levee,
which, according to programme, was in the act of being celebrated at the
bottom of the hall.

Culver, who was really rather sore under the arms, with his long
confinement in his cousin's "swallow," was mounted on a lexicon, and
word being passed that he was ready to receive company, the Den
proceeded to file past him, in imitation of the ceremony which had just
been concluded on the upper dais.

The imitation in this case, however, was not flattery. Culver was not a
dignified youth, and his sense of humour was not of that refined order
which enables a man to distinguish between comedy and burlesque. He had
a general idea that he had to make himself pleasant, which he
accordingly did in his own peculiar style.

"Ah, Gossy, old chap!" he said, as the secretary of the Den presented
himself with his whiskered cheek nearest to his chief. "It's coming on,
my boy. You'll have a hair and a half before the Grandcourt match."

The titter which greeted this sally highly delighted the tight-laced
president, who (especially as his audience consisted of a good
sprinkling of the Middle school, attracted by the chance of sport),
strained every nerve to sustain his reputation for wit.

"How do you do, Pauncefote, my lad?" said he, as the owner of the light
blue silk handkerchief approached. "Why don't you show enough wipe?
Stick a pin in one corner, and leave the rest hanging down. How's the
novel, my boy?"

"Pretty well," said Pauncefote.

"Ah, my venerable chum, Smith," continued the president, holding out his
hand to the joint secretary.

"Why don't you wash your face, and stick your hands up your sleeves.
How's a fellow to flap you a daddle in those cuffs, eh?"

In this refined style of banter, Culver passed his followers in array,
gradually degenerating in his humour as he went on, until the last few
came in for decidedly broad personalities.

But he saved up his final effort for the new boys, of whom Aspinall
happened to be pushed forward first.

"Booh, hoo! poor little baby. Did it come for a little drink of its
'ittle bottle? It should then. Hold out your hand, you young muff."

Aspinall obeyed, and next moment was writhing under the "scrunch" which
the president in his humour bestowed upon it.

"Now make a bow," demanded that gentleman when the greeting was over.

Aspinall made obeisance, amid loud