* A kind and wise critic, an old Rugboean, notes here in the margin:  “The small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841-1847.”  Before that, too, there were many noble friendships between big and little boys; but I can’t strike out the passage.  Many boys will know why it is left in.

“Let me out, let me go!” screamed the boy, in a furious passion.  “I’ll go and tell Jones this minute, and he’ll give you both the —–­ thrashing you ever had.”

“Pretty little dear,” said East, patting the top of his hat.—­“Hark how he swears, Tom.  Nicely brought up young man, ain’t he, I don’t think.”

“Let me alone, —–­ you,” roared the boy, foaming with rage, and kicking at East, who quietly tripped him up, and deposited him on the floor in a place of safety.

“Gently, young fellow,” said he; “’tain’t improving for little whippersnappers like you to be indulging in blasphemy; so you stop that, or you’ll get something you won’t like.”

“I’ll have you both licked when I get out, that I will,” rejoined the boy, beginning to snivel.

“Two can play at that game, mind you,” said Tom, who had finished his examination of the list.  “Now you just listen here.  We’ve just come across the fives court, and Jones has four fags there already—­two more than he wants.  If he’d wanted us to change, he’d have stopped us himself.  And here, you little blackguard, you’ve got seven names down on your list besides ours, and five of them School-house.”  Tom walked up to him, and jerked him on to his legs; he was by this time whining like a whipped puppy.  “Now just listen to me.  We ain’t going to fag for Jones.  If you tell him you’ve sent us, we’ll each of us give you such a thrashing as you’ll remember.”  And Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the fire.

“And mind you, too,” said East, “don’t let me catch you again sneaking about the School-house, and picking up our fags.  You haven’t got the sort of hide to take a sound licking kindly.”  And he opened the door and sent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle with a parting kick.

“Nice boy, Tommy,” said East, shoving his hands in his pockets, and strolling to the fire.

“Worst sort we breed,” responded Tom, following his example.  “Thank goodness, no big fellow ever took to petting me.”

“You’d never have been like that,” said East.  “I should like to have put him in a museum:  Christian young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated.  Stir him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear like a drunken sailor.  He’d make a respectable public open its eyes, I think.”

“Think he’ll tell Jones?” said Tom.

“No,” said East.  “Don’t care if he does.”

“Nor I,” said Tom.  And they went back to talk about Arthur.

The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noted as some of the toughest fags in the School, wouldn’t care three straws for any licking Jones might give them, and would be likely to keep their words as to passing it on with interest.