One by one the trembling small fry were grabbed and passed round to answer a string of questions such as-- "What's your name ?" "Are you most like your father or your mother ?" "Who's your hatter ?" "Can you swim ?" "Who was the father of Zebedee's children ?" "Are you a Radical or a Tory ?" All of which questions each luckless catechumen was required to answer truly, and in a loud, distinct voice, amid the most embarrassing cheers and jeers and hootings of the audience.
Dick got through his fairly well till he came to the political question, when he made the great mistake of saying he didn't know whether he was a Radical or a Tory.

For, as he might have expected, every one was down on him, and he was sent forth a marked man to make up his mind on the question.
Heathcote, whose sorrow it was to be separated from his friend in the landing of the catch, was less lucky.

He professed himself like his mother, which was greatly against him.

His hatter also was a country artist instead of a Londoner, and that he discovered was an extremely grave offence.

And as for his politics, he made a greater mistake even than Dick, for he professed himself imbued with opinions "between the two," an announcement which brought down a torrent of abuse and scorn, mingled with cries of "kick him for a half-and-half prig!" an observation which Heathcote was very sorry indeed to hear.
As the reader may guess, poor young Aspinall had a very bad time of it.
He began to cry as soon as the first question was propounded.