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“Hello, little brighteyes!” greeted a voice. The appellation was novel to Rodney, but the voice had a familiar sound and so he turned. The speaker was Guy Watson. He was grinning, but Rodney didn’t like the expression back of the grin.

“Hello,” he answered quietly, and crossed over to join his classmates.

“Not quite so airy, please,” continued Watson. “A little more respect, sonny. Now, then, try it again.”

He lolled over in front of Rodney, a frown replacing the grin.

Rodney was puzzled. “What is it you want?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you what I don’t want, you fresh young kid. I don’t want any of your cheek. Get that?”

“I haven’t cheeked anyone,” protested the other. “You said ‘Hello,’ and I answered you.”

The boy next him was nudging him meaningly, but Rodney was still at a loss. Watson sneered.

“Innocent, aren’t you?” he demanded. “Don’t they teach you manners where you live? Where is that, anyway?”

“I live in Nebraska,” answered Rodney.

“Nebraska, eh! Out with the Indians. Well, of course you wouldn’t know any better. So I’ll explain to you, Mr. Wild West, that here at Maple Hill a First Former says ‘Sir’ to Third and Fourth Form fellows. Get that?”