With the Middle school he contented himself with a shake of the hand and a "How are you, Wright ?" "Ah, Troup, old man," and such-like greetings.

Boys he had punished yesterday he received quite as warmly now as the most immaculate of the virtuous ones, and boys who had cheeked him two hours ago in the fields he shook hands with as cordially as he did with the most loyal of his adherents.
There was a pause as the last of the Middle school descended from the dais, and the Den, headed by the resplendent Culver, advanced.
Templeton tried to look grave and remember its good manners, but it was an effort under such an array of glory.

Culver himself, with his borrowed coat so tight under the arms that he could not keep his elbows down, and his waistcoat pinned back so far that the empty button-hole in his front quite put the studded ones to shame, might have passed in a crowd; but Gosse, with his hair parted in the middle and his "whisker" elaborately curled; Pauncefote, with his light blue silk handkerchief protruding half out of his waistcoat pocket; and Smith, with the cuffs that hid the tips of his fingers, were beyond gravity, and a suppressed titter followed the grandees up the hall and on to the platform.
Pontifex received them all with serene affability and good breeding.
"Hullo, youngster!" said he to Culver, not even bestowing a glance on his finery: "hope to see you in an eleven this season.

Ah, Gosse, my boy; quiet as ever, eh?
You're an inch taller than last levee.

How are you, Pauncefote?
How are you, Smith?
How goes the novel?
not dead, I hope ?" "No; it's going on," said Pauncefote, blushing.
"Put me down for a copy," said the captain.