"It's coming on, my boy.

You'll have a hair and a half before the Grandcourt match." The titter which greeted this sally highly delighted the tight-laced president, who (especially as his audience consisted of a good sprinkling of the Middle school, attracted by the chance of sport), strained every nerve to sustain his reputation for wit.
"How do you do, Pauncefote, my lad ?" said he, as the owner of the light blue silk handkerchief approached.

"Why don't you show enough wipe?
Stick a pin in one corner, and leave the rest hanging down.

How's the novel, my boy ?" "Pretty well," said Pauncefote.
"Ah, my venerable chum, Smith," continued the president, holding out his hand to the joint secretary.
"Why don't you wash your face, and stick your hands up your sleeves.
How's a fellow to flap you a daddle in those cuffs, eh ?" In this refined style of banter, Culver passed his followers in array, gradually degenerating in his humour as he went on, until the last few came in for decidedly broad personalities.
But he saved up his final effort for the new boys, of whom Aspinall happened to be pushed forward first.
"Booh, hoo! poor little baby.

Did it come for a little drink of its 'ittle bottle?
It should then.