In the first round Heathcote's name and Aspinall's both came up--the former, much to his disgust, falling to the lot of Pledge, the latter to that of Cresswell.

Dick boiled with excitement as the hat started on its second round.

Suppose he, too, should fall to the lot of a cad like Pledge, or a brute like Bull! Or, oh blissful notion! suppose Cresswell should draw him, too, as well as Aspinall.
The hat started; Pontifex drew a stranger; so did Mansfield.

Then Cresswell drew, and, with a bound of delight, Dick heard his own name, and marked the gleam of pleasure which crossed his new master's face as he turned towards him.

He forgot all about his legs, he even missed Heathcote's doleful look of disappointment, or the thankful sigh of young Aspinall.