Whereupon Ashby held on to a desk and howled till the windows shook.
"That'll do," shouted D'Arcy in his ear after a moment or two, and Ashby, thankful for the relief, shut off steam and awaited his next orders.
Clapperton was a big, smirking fellow, rather loudly dressed, with a persuasive voice and what was intended to be a condescending manner.
Some fellows could never make out why Clapperton did not go down in Fellsgarth.

He tried to be civil, he was lavish with his pocket-money, and always disclaimed any desire to quarrel with anybody.

And yet no one oared for him, while of course the out-and-out champions of the rival side hated him.

He seconded with pleasure the motion of "his friend Yorke,"-- ("Cheek!" exclaimed D'Arcy, _sotto voce_; "what business has he to call our captain his friend!") This was the old rule of Fellsgarth, and a very good rule.

It meant hard work, but he was always glad to do what he could for the old School.