"What are you up to ?" "My gloves--I've--I've left them upstairs." "Your what ?" "Gloves.

I thought it was a mistake about new boys having to wear them, and didn't bring them." The boy looked grave.
"Oh, you'll catch it! You can't go now.

There's Sharpe coming in.
Haven't you got any at all ?" "Only my ordinary gloves." "What colour ?" "Yellow." "Stick them on then." "But they've only two buttons." "Can't be helped.

You're bound to catch it, but they're better than nothing." So, in dire agitation, I drew on my new dog-skin gloves.

The smiles of the boys near me I interpreted as a grim recognition that I had "shirked form" and did not know any better.