"Look at that string of 'C's' in that line.

There's nothing mean about THEM." He put his pen between his teeth, raised himself slowly on his legs, and shading his eyes with his hand from the severe perspective of six feet, gazed admiringly down upon his work.

Rupert, with his hands in his pockets and his back to the window, cynically assisted at the inspection.
"Wot's that sick worm at the bottom of the page ?" he asked.
"Wot might you think it wos ?" said Uncle Ben beamingly.
"Looks like one o' them snake roots you dig up with a little mud stuck to it," returned Rupert critically.
"That's my name." They both stood looking at it with their heads very much on one side.
"It ain't so bad as the rest you've done.

It MIGHT be your name.

That ez, it don't look like anythin' else," suggested Rupert, struck with a new idea that it was perhaps more professional occasionally to encourage his pupil.