Everything's a joke.

If I was going to be flogged next minute, I should be in a blue funk, but I couldn't help laughing at it for the life of me." "Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the great fives court." "Hullo, though, that's past a joke," broke out East, springing at the young gentleman who addressed them, and catching him by the collar.--"Here, Tommy, catch hold of him t'other side before he can holla." The youth was seized, and dragged, struggling, out of the quadrangle into the School-house hall.

He was one of the miserable little pretty white-handed, curly-headed boys, petted and pampered by some of the big fellows, who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink and use bad language, and did all they could to spoil them for everything * in this world and the next.

One of the avocations in which these young gentlemen took particular delight was in going about and getting fags for their protectors, when those heroes were playing any game.

They carried about pencil and paper with them, putting down the names of all the boys they sent, always sending five times as many as were wanted, and getting all those thrashed who didn't go.