Dr Plummer was just about to make a communication when I made my belated entry.
"Jones," said he, as much in sorrow as in anger, "this is not the first time this term that you have been late." It certainly was not.
"What is the reason ?" "Please, sir," said I, stammering out my stereotyped excuse, "I think I can't have heard the first bell." "Perhaps the first six sums of compound proportion written out ten times will enable you to hear it more distinctly in future.

We will try it, if you please, Jones." Then turning sternly to the assembled school, he said, "I was about to say something to you, boys, when this disturbance interrupted me.

A shameful act has been done by some one in the night, in which I sincerely hope no one here has had a hand.

The dog has been killed." A whistle of consternation went round the room.

What?
Hector killed ?-- Hector the collie--the beast--the brute--the sneak--the traitor--the arch-enemy of every boy at Plummer's?
Hector, who was reported to be worth thirty guineas?
Hector, the darling of Mrs P.and the young P.'s?
Hector of the teeth, and the snarl, and the snap, the incorruptible, the sleepless, the unforgiving?
What miscreant hero had dared perform this sacrilegious exploit?
"Perish Hector!" had been an immemorial war-cry at Plummer's; but Hector had never yet perished.