This fellow was Harrison, whom, next to Browne, we counted the oiliest fellow at Draven's.

He could sing, and make puns, and though a long way behind Browne, was a popular, jovial companion.
He appeared not to hear my remark, but, hitching his chair a little away, began deliberately to carve a slice of ham.
He took a long time about it, and I watched him patiently till he was done.

It was a prime ham, I could see, and, ashamed as I am to confess it, it made me feel amiable to all the world to find it was so.
"If they were all like this--" I began.
"There's room here, Harrison, old man," Williams called up the table.
Whereupon Harrison, plate in hand, went down to keep Williams company, leaving me for the first time in my life "top-hammer." Somehow I did not enjoy the dignity quite as much as I should have expected.

I was sorry Harrison had gone, for I wanted to speak to him about Potter, and I could not help fancying, from his unusual manner, that he was put out about something, and I thought he might have told me about it instead of chumming up to Williams.

However, I was hungry, and took my slice of ham and passed the dish along to the fellow next me, who sat below the two empty chairs up which I had risen.
It was rather a solitary meal, and I was glad when it was over and the bell rang for first school.