pardon, learned governor! By your leave!—That there blackboard; wot’s it for?”
“It is for drawing on, or writing on.”
“Is it though!” said Riderhood. “Who’d have thought it, from the looks on it! would you be so kind as write your name upon it, learned governor?” (In a wheedling tone.)
Bradley hesitated for a moment; but placed his usual signature, enlarged, upon the board.
“I ain’t a learned character myself,” said Riderhood, surveying the class, “but I do admire learning in others. I should dearly like to hear these here young folks read that there name off, from the writing.”
The arms of the class went up. At the miserable master’s nod, the shrill chorus arose: “Bradley Headstone!”
“No?” cried Riderhood. “You don’t mean it? Headstone! Why, that’s in a churchyard. Hooroar for another turn!”
Another tossing of arms, another nod, and another shrill chorus:
“Bradley Headstone!”
“I’ve got it now!” said Riderhood, after attentively listening, and internally repeating: “Bradley. I see. Chris’en name, Bradley sim’lar to Roger which is my own. Eh? Fam’ly name, Headstone, sim’lar to Riderhood which is my own. Eh?”
Shrill chorus. “Yes!”
“Might you be acquainted, learned governor,” said Riderhood, “with a person of about your own heighth and breadth, and wot ’ud pull down