CHAPTER FIVE.
HOW A CHAPTER OF MISFORTUNES BEFEL MY FRIEND SMITH AND ME.
The summer wore on, and with it the gloom of Stonebridge House sunk deeper and deeper into our spirits.

After a week or two even the sense of novelty wore off, and we settled down to our drudges' doom as if we were destined all our lives never to see any place outside the Henniker's domain.
If it hadn't been for Smith I don't know how I should have endured it.
Not that we ever had much chance of enjoying one another's society.

In school it was wholly impossible.

In the playground (particularly after our recent escapade), we had very little opportunity given us; and at night, when secretly we did contrive to talk, it was with the constant dread of detection hanging over us.
What concerned me most of all, though, was the bad way in which Smith seemed to get on with every one of his schoolfellows except me, and-- perhaps Flanagan.

With the bullies, like Philpot and Rathbone, he was at daggers drawn; towards the others he never took the trouble to conceal his dislike, while with Hawkesbury an explosion seemed always, imminent.
I could not understand why he got on so badly, especially with Hawkesbury, who certainly never made himself disagreeable, but, on the contrary, always appeared desirous to be friendly.