If he wants to kick you, consider yourself lucky.

If he's extra civil, cut him like mischief.

Some day you may thank me for the tip." It seemed queer advice at the time, but I had occasion to call it to mind later on, as the reader will discover.
By the end of my first week I was pretty well domesticated at Low Heath.
My chief regret was that I saw so little of Dicky Brown; and when we did meet the only thing we had in common was our lessons, which were not always congenial topics of conversation.
Dicky was fully imbued with the superiority of the town-boy over the house boy, and irritated me sometimes by his repeated regret that I was not eligible for the junior Urbans.
"What do you do ?" I inquired.
"Oh, hosts of things.

We go in for geology, and part songs, and antiquities, and all that sort of thing; and have excursions--at least, we're going to have one soon--to look for remains." "Ah! it's a pity you couldn't come to our picnic next week.

It's to be no end of a spree." "Oh, we've heard all about that," said Dicky, with a grin.