mean to tell me you never called out
"Shellfish" or--or other opprobrious epithets into my door, sir?' And
he inclined his ear for the answer with his eyes fixed on the boy's
face.

'Not "Shellfish,"' said the boy; 'I did "Prawn" once. But that was
long ago.'

Mark gave him up then, with a little contempt for such injudicious
candour.

'Oh!' said Mr. Shelford, catching him, but not ungently, by the ear.
'"Prawn," eh? "Prawn"; hear that, Ashburn? Perhaps you wouldn't mind
telling me _why_ "Prawn"?'

A natural tendency of the youthful mind to comparative physiology had
discovered a fancied resemblance which justified any graceful
personalities of this kind; but Langton probably felt that candour had
its limits, and that this was a question that required judgment in
dealing with it.

'Because--because I've heard other fellows call you that,' he
replied.

'Ah, and why do _they_ call me Prawn, eh?'

'I never heard them give any reason,' said the boy, diplomatically.

Mr. Shelford let the boy go with another chuckle, and Langton retired
to his form again out of earshot.

'Yes, Ashburn,' said old Jemmy, 'that's the name they have for me--one
of 'em. "Prawn" and "Shellfish"--they yell it out after me as I'm
going home, and then run away. And I've had to bear it thirty years.'

'Young ruffians!' said Mark, as if the sobriquets were wholly unknown
to the masters' room.

'Ah, they do though; and the other day, when my monitor opened the
desk in the morning, there was a great impident kitten staring me in
the face. He'd put it in there himself, I dare say, to annoy me.'

He did not add that he had sent out for some milk for the intruder,
and had nursed it on his old knees during morning school, after which
he showed it out with every consideration for its feelings; but it was
the case nevertheless, for his years amongst boys had still left a
soft place in his heart, though he got little credit for it.

'Yes, it's a wearing life, sir, a wearing life,' he went on with less
heat, 'hearing generations of stoopid boys all blundering at the same
stiff places, and worrying over the same old passages. I'm getting
very tired of it; I'm an old man now. "Occidit miseros crambe"--eh,
you know how it goes on?'

'Yes, yes,' said Mark, 'quite so,'--though he had but a dim
recollection of the line in question.

'Talking of verses,' said the other, 'I hear we're to have the
pleasure of seeing one of your productions on Speech-