TOM BROWN'S
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 onto 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 two 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.
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