Glyn Severns Schooldays | Page 3

sneering laugh. "Well,
perhaps I do, and if I do I shall just give your master one for himself as
well."
"My master," said the lad staring.
"Yes, your master, the nigger--Howdah, Squashee, or whatever he calls
himself. Here! hi! you, Aziz Singh-Song, or whatever your name is, why
don't you dress up and go and get leave from the Doctor to ride the
elephant in the procession? Your father is a mahout out there in India,
isn't he?"
The boy he addressed, who had just come up to lay his hand upon the

shoulder of Severn, to whisper, "What's the matter, Glyn?" started on
hearing this address, and his dark face, which was about the tint of a
young Spaniard's, whom he resembled greatly in mien, flushed up and
the lips closed very tightly, but only to part again and show his
glistening white teeth. "My father--" he began.
"Bother! come on," cried Severn, putting his arm round the other and
half-pushing, half-dragging him through the crowd of lads who were
clustering round in expectation of a coming set-to.
There was a low murmur as of disgust as the two lads elbowed their
way through, whilst Slegge shouted after them.
"Sneaks!" he cried. "Cowards! But I haven't done with you yet;" and as
they passed out through the door into the great playground he drew
himself up, giving his head a jerk, and then moistening his hands in a
very objectionable way, he gave them a rub together, doubled his fists,
and threw himself into a fighting attitude, jerking his head to and fro in
the most approved manner; and, bringing forth a roar of delight from
the little crowd around him, as quick as lightning he delivered two
sharp blows right and left to a couple of unoffending schoolfellows,
picking out, though, two who were not likely to retaliate.
"That'll be it, boys, the pair together--one down and t'other come on.
Both together if they like. They want putting in their places. I mean to
strike against it."
"Hit hard then, Sleggy," cried one of his parasites.
"I will," was the reply. "There you have it;" and to the last speaker's
disgust he received a sharp blow in the chest which sent him staggering
back. "Now, don't you call me Sleggy again, young man. Next time it
will be one in the mouth.--Yes, boys," he continued, drawing himself up,
"I do mean to hit hard, and let the Principal and the masters see that
we are not going to have favouritism here. Indian prince, indeed! Yah!
who's he? Why, I could sell him for a ten-pun note, stock and lock and
bag and baggage, to Madame Tussaud's. That's about all he's fit for.
Dressed up to imitate an English gentleman! Look at him! His clothes

don't fit, even if they are made by a proper tailor."
"It's he who doesn't fit his clothes," cried one of the circle.
"Well done, Burney!" cried Slegge approvingly. "That's it. Look at his
hands and feet. Bah! I haven't patience with it. The Doctor ought to be
ashamed of himself, taking a nigger like that! Why didn't he come
dressed like a native, instead of disguised as an English lad? And he's
no more like it than chalk's like cheese. Yes, I say the Doctor ought to
be ashamed of himself, bringing a fellow like that into an establishment
for the sons of gentlemen; and I'll tell him so before I have done."
"Do," said the lad nearest to him; "only do it when we are all there. I
should like to hear you give the Doctor a bit of your mind."
Slegge turned round upon him sharply. "Do you mean that," he said,
"or is it chaff?"
"Mean it? Of course!" cried the boy hastily.
"Lucky for you, then," continued Slegge. "I suppose you haven't
forgotten me giving you porridge before breakfast this time last year?"
"Here, what a chap you are! I didn't mean any harm. But I say, Slegge,
old chap, you did scare them off. I wish the Principal wouldn't have any
more new boys. I say, though, you don't mean to get the wickets pitched
this morning, do you?"
"Of course I do," cried Slegge. "Do you want to go idling and staring
over the wall and look at the show?"
"Well, I--I--"
"There, that will do," cried Slegge. "I know. Just as if there weren't
monkeys enough in the collection without you!"
At this would-be witticism on the part of the tyrant of the school there
was a fresh roar of laughter, which made the unfortunate against whom
it was directed writhe with annoyance, and hurry off to conciliate his

schoolfellow by getting the wickets pitched.
CHAPTER TWO.
DECLARATION OF WAR.
Meanwhile the two lads, who had retired from