No sooner was that done than the order went out that every boy should have a cold bath every morning, unless excused by the doctor.
The school couldn't resign, so they sulked, and gasped in the unwelcome element, and coughed heart-rendingly whenever they met the tyrant.

The tyrant was insatiate.

Before the school could recover from his first shock, the decree for compulsory football staggered it.
Compulsory football! Why, half the fellows in the school had never put their toes to a football in their lives, and those who had had rarely done more than punt the leather aimlessly about, when they felt in the humour to kick something, and nobody or nothing more convenient was at hand.

But it was useless to represent this to Mr Frampton.
"The sooner you begin to play the better," was his reply to all such objections.
But the old goal posts were broken, and the ball was flabby and nearly worn-out.
"The new goals and ball are to arrive from London to-day." But they had not got flannels or proper clothes to play in.
"They must get flannels.

Every boy must have flannels, and meanwhile they must wear the oldest shirts and trousers they had." Shirts and trousers! Then they weren't even to be allowed to wear coats and waistcoats this chilly weather! Hadn't they better wait till next week, till they could ask leave of their parents, and get their flannels and practise a bit?
"No.