It was a by-word in the school that his favorites had the stormiest lessons.
"I'm thankful I'm not a pet pupil," declared Fil, whose playing was hardly of a classical order.

"I should have forty fits if he stalked about the room, and tore his hair, and shouted like he does with Janie.
He scared me quite enough sitting by my side and saying: 'Shall we take this again now ?' with a sort of grim politeness, as if he were making an effort to restrain his temper.

I know I'm not what he calls musical, but I can't help it.

I'd rather hear comic opera any day than his wretched cantatas, and when I'm not practising I shall play what I like.

There!" And Fil, who was sitting at the piano, twirled round on the stool and strummed "Beautiful K--K--Katie" with a lack of technique that probably would have brought her teacher's temper up to bubbling-over point had he been there to listen to her.
It was exactly ten days after the term had begun that Bess Haselford came to the College.