? No!
You may not fancy yourself alone,
You who are memory's heir,
When even the names in the graven stone
Will greet you with 'Who goes there--
You?--
Pass, Friend--All's well.'"

John never forgot that memorable morning when he learned for the first
time what place he had taken in the school. He sat with the other
new-comers, staring, open-eyed, at nearly six hundred boys, big and
small, assembled together in the Speech-room. So engrossed was he that
he scarcely heard the Head Master's opening prayers. John was
obsessed, inebriated, with the number of Harrovians, each of whom had
once felt strange and shy like himself. From his place close to the
great organ, he could look up and up, seeing row after row of faces,
knowing that amongst them sat his future friends and foes.

Suddenly, a neighbour nudged him. The Head Master was reading from a
list in his hand the school-removes, and the names and places taken by
new boys. He began at the lowest form with the name of a small urchin
sitting near John. The urchin blinked and blushed as he realized that
he was "lag of the school." John knew that he had answered fairly well
the questions set by the examiners; he had no fear of finding himself
pilloried in the Third Fourth; still, as form after form did not
include his name, he grew restless and excited. Had he taken a higher
place than the Middle Shell? Yes; no Verney in the Middle Shell. The
Head Master began the removes of the top Shell. Now, now it must be
coming. No; the clear penetrating tones slowly articulated name after
name, but not his.

"Verney."

At last. Many eyes were staring at him, some enviously, a few
superciliously. John had taken the Lower Remove, the highest form but
one open to new boys. He was sipping the wine called Success.

Moreover, Desmond of the frank, laughing face and sparkling blue eyes,
and Scaife and Egerton were also in the Lower Remove.

After this, John sat in a blissful dream, hardly conscious of his
surroundings, seeing his mother's face, hearing her sigh of pleasure
when she learned that already her son was halfway up the school.

You may be sure those first forty-eight hours were brim-full of
excitements. First, John bought his books, stout leather-tipped,
leather-backed volumes, on which his name will be duly stamped on
fly-leaf and across the edges of the pages. And he bought also, from
"Judy" Stephens,[1] a "squash" racq