He was bullied at school until his appointment as his dormitory's story-teller gave him a certain status, but his efforts at cricket and football were mocked with jeers and insults.

He could not throw a cricket-ball, he could not see to catch one after it was thrown to him, did he try to kick a football he missed it, and when he had run for five minutes he saw purple skies and silver stars and has cramp in his legs.

He had, however, during these years at Mr.Lasher's, this great over mastering ambition.
In his sleep, at any rate, he was a hero; in the wide-awake world he was, in the opinion of almost every one, a fool.

He was exactly the type of boy whom the Rev.William Lasher could least easily understand.

Mr.
Lasher was tall and thin (his knees often cracked with a terrifying noise), blue-black about the cheeks hooked as to the nose, bald and shining as to the head, genial as to the manner, and practical to the shining tips of his fingers.