A Dog with a Bad Name | Page 2

the fellows are all to tub every morning, whether they like it or not. What do you call that? I know I'll get my governor to make a row about it. It won't wash, I can tell you. What business has he to make us tub, eh, do you hear? That's only one thing. He came and jawed us in the big room this morning, and said he meant to make football compulsory! There! You needn't gape as if you thought I was gammoning. I'm not, I mean it. Football's to be compulsory. Every man Jack's got to play, whether he can or not. I call it brutal! The only thing is, it won't be done. The fellows will kick. I shall. I'm not going to play football to please a cad like Frampton, or any other cad!"
What Benjamin says is, for a wonder, the truth. A curious change had come over Bolsover since the end of last term. Old Mr Mullany, good old fossil that he was, had resigned. The boys had heard casually of the event at the end of last term. But the old gentleman so seldom appeared in their midst, and when he did, so rarely made any show of authority, that the school had grown to look upon him as an inoffensive old fogey, whose movements made very little difference to anybody.
It was not till the holidays were over, and Mr Frampton introduced himself as the new head-master, that Bolsover awoke to the knowledge that a change had taken place. Mr Frampton--he was not even a "Doctor" or a "Reverend," but was a young man with sandy whiskers, and a red tie--had a few ideas of his own on the subject of dry-rot. He evidently preferred ripping up entire floors to patching single planks, and he positively scared his colleagues and pupils by the way he set to work. He was young and enthusiastic, and was perhaps tempted to overdo things at first. When people are being reformed, they need a little breathing time now and then; but Mr Frampton seemed to forget it.
He had barely been in his post a week when two of the under-masters resigned their posts. Undaunted he brought over two new men, who shared his own ideas, and installed them into the vacancies. Then three more of the old masters resigned; and three more new men took their places. Then the "experienced matron" resigned, and Mrs Frampton took her place. No sooner was that done than the order went out that every boy should have a cold bath every morning, unless excused by the doctor. The school couldn't resign, so they sulked, and gasped in the unwelcome element, and coughed heart-rendingly whenever they met the tyrant. The tyrant was insatiate. Before the school could recover from his first shock, the decree for compulsory football staggered it.
Compulsory football! Why, half the fellows in the school had never put their toes to a football in their lives, and those who had had rarely done more than punt the leather aimlessly about, when they felt in the humour to kick something, and nobody or nothing more convenient was at hand. But it was useless to represent this to Mr Frampton.
"The sooner you begin to play the better," was his reply to all such objections.
But the old goal posts were broken, and the ball was flabby and nearly worn-out.
"The new goals and ball are to arrive from London to-day."
But they had not got flannels or proper clothes to play in.
"They must get flannels. Every boy must have flannels, and meanwhile they must wear the oldest shirts and trousers they had."
Shirts and trousers! Then they weren't even to be allowed to wear coats and waistcoats this chilly weather! Hadn't they better wait till next week, till they could ask leave of their parents, and get their flannels and practise a bit?
"No. Between now and Saturday they would have two clear days to practise. On Saturday, the Sixth would play the School at three o'clock."
And Mr Frampton, there being nothing more to say on this subject, went off to see what his next pleasant little surprise should be. Bolsover, meanwhile, snarled over the matter in ill-tempered conclaves in the play-ground.
"It's simple humbug," said Farfield, one of the Sixth. "I defy him to make me play if I don't choose."
"I shall stand with my hands in my pockets, and not move an inch," said another.
"I mean to sit down on the grass and have a nap," said a third.
"All very well," said a youngster, called Forrester; "if you can get all the other fellows to do the same. But if some of them play, it'll look as if you funked it."
"Who cares what it looks like?" said Farfield. "It will look like not being made to do