Glyn Severns Schooldays | Page 2

the passing of the procession.
"So childish of the old man," said Morris to the French master,
Monsieur Brohanne, a particularly plump-looking Gaul. "The boys will
be fit for nothing afterwards."
"Certainement!" said the French master.
"But I suppose I must give orders for these seats to be placed;" and as
soon as he was outside he summoned Wrench--the pale-faced and
red-nosed official whose principal duty it was, with the assistance of a
sturdy hobbledehoy (Mounseer Hobby-de-Hoy, as the boys called him)
to keep well-blackened the whole of the boots in the big
establishment--and gave orders to carry out and run a line of forms all
along the outer wall of the great playground, which was continued
farther on by the cricket-field hedge.
"A great waste of time," said Morris; but he gave very strict orders to
the man-servant that the biggest and strongest form was to be chalked
"Number One," and reserved for the masters only.
There was a buzz in the dining-hall which grew into a roar as the door
closed. The boys, who had sat down to breakfast rather wanting in
appetite--from the fact that their consciences were not very clear
regarding studies in English and French or certain algebraic solutions
or arrangements in angles specified by "A B C" and "D E F,"
according to the declarations of a well-known gentleman named
Euclid--felt in their great relief as if they would like another cup of
coffee and two slices more, for the holiday was quite unexpected.
It was about this time that Slegge gave his opinion to his following,
which was rather large, he being the senior pupil and considering
himself head-chief of the school, not from his distinguished position as

a scholar, but from the fact that his allowance of cash from home was
the largest of that furnished to any pupil of the establishment, without
counting extra tips. Slegge, Senior--not the pupil, for there was no
other boy of the same name in the school, but Slegge pere, as Monsieur
Brohanne would have termed him--being sole proprietor of the great
wholesale mercantile firm of Slegge, Gorrock and Dredge, Italian
warehousemen, whose place of business was in the City of London, and
was, as Slegge insisted, "not a shop."
"You fellows," he said, "can do as you like. Some of you had better set
up a wicket and the net, and come and bowl to me. Ha, ha! look at
Thames and the Nigger! It will just suit them. Those Indian chaps think
of nothing else but show. I shan't be at all surprised if the nigger goes
up to dress and comes down again in white muslin and a turban.--I say!
Hi! Thames! Rivers! What's your stupid name? It's going to be a hot
day. You ought to come out with the chow-chow."
"No, no," whispered a boy beside him, "chowri."
"Well, chow-chow, chowri; it's all the same," said the big lad
impatiently. "Horse-tail to whisk the flies away.--Hi! do you hear?"
"Are you speaking to me?" said the tall, very English-looking lad
addressed.
"Of course I am."
"Well, you might address me by my name."
"Well, so I did. Thames. No, I remember, Severn! What idiots your
people were to give themselves names like that!"
"Well, it's as good as Slegge anyhow," said the lad.
There was a little laugh at this, which made the owner of the latter
name turn sharply and fiercely upon the nearest boy, who shut his
mouth instantly and looked as innocent as a lamb.

"Look here," said Slegge, turning again to the lad he had addressed,
"don't you be cheeky, sir, or you'll find yourself walked down behind
the tennis-court some morning to have a first breakfast; and you won't
be the first that I have taught his place in this school."
"Oh," said the lad quietly, "you mean fighting?"
"Yes," said Slegge, thrusting out his chin, "I mean fighting. You are
new to this place, and you have been coming the stuck-up on the
strength of your father being a poor half-pay Company's colonel.
Honourable East India Company indeed! Shabby set of sham soldiers
got-up to look like the real."
The face of the boy he addressed changed colour a little, and he drew a
deep breath as he compressed his lips.
"And don't you look at me like that," continued Slegge, who was
delighted to find a large audience gathering round him to listen while
he gave one of the new boys a good setting down, "or you may find that,
after I have done with you, you won't be fit to show your ugly mug in
the row of grinning boobies staring over the wall at a
twopenny-halfpenny wild-beast show."
"I don't want to quarrel," said the lad quietly.
"Oh, don't you!" continued Slegge, with a