in which he resembles me. He wrote from Oxford that he would come, and I
answered that I would not see him. Yet he ventures to insist. The
fellow needs a lesson! Ambrose, ring for Perkins."

A large footman entered with an outraged expression upon his face.

"I cannot have this uproar at the door, Perkins!"

"If you please, the young gentleman won't go away, sir."

"Won't go away? It is your duty to see that he goes away. Have you not
your orders? Didn't you tell him that I am not seen before midday?"

"I said so, sir. He would have pushed his way in, for all I could say,
so I slammed the door in his face."

"Very right, Perkins."

"But now, sir, he is making such a din that all the folk are at the
windows. There is a crowd gathering in the street, sir."

From below came the crack-crack-crack of the knocker, ever rising in
insistence, with a chorus of laughter and encouraging comments from the
spectators. Sir Charles flushed with anger. There must be some limit to
such impertinence.

"My clouded amber cane is in the corner," said he. "Take it with you,
Perkins. I give you a free hand. A stripe or two may bring the young
rascal to reason."

The large Perkins smiled and departed. The door was heard to open below
and the knocker was at rest. A few moments later there followed a
prolonged howl and a noise as of a beaten carpet. Sir Charles listened
with a smile which gradually faded from his good-humoured face.

"The fellow must not overdo it," he muttered. "I would not do the lad an
injury, whatever his deserts may be. Ambrose, run out on the balcony and
call him off. This has gone far enough."

But before the valet could move there came the swift patter of agile feet
upon the stairs, and a handsome youth, dressed in the height of fashion,
was standing framed in the open doorway. The pose, the face, above all
the curious, mischievous, dancing light in the large blue eyes, all spoke
of the famous Tregellis blood. Even such was Sir Charles when, twenty
years before, he had, by virtue of his spirit and audacity, in one short
season taken a place in London from which Brummell himself had afterwards
vainly struggled to depose him. The youth faced the angry features of
his uncle with an air of debonair amusement, and he held towards him,
upon his outstretched palms, the broken fragments of an amber cane.

"I much fear, sir," said he, "that in correcting your fellow I have had
the misfortune