"It will look like not being made to do what they've no right to make us do--that's all I care about." "Well, I don't know," said Pridger, another of the Sixth; "if it came to the School licking us, I fancy I'd try to prevent that." "And if it came to the Sixth licking us," said young Forrester, who was of the audacious order, "I fancy _I'd_ try to put a stopper on that." There was a smile at this, for the valiant junior was small for his age, and flimsily built.

Smiles, however, were not the order of the day, and for the most part Bolsover brooded over her tribulations in sulky silence.
The boys had not much in common, and even a calamity like the present failed to bring them together.

The big boys mooned about and thought of their lost liberties, of the afternoons in the tuck-shop, of the yellow- backed novels under the trees, of the loafings down town, and wondered if they should ever be happy again.

The little boys--some of them--wept secretly in corners, as they pictured themselves among the killed and wounded on the terrible football field.

And as the sharp October wind cut across the play-ground, they shuddered, great and small, at the prospect of standing there on Saturday, without coats or waistcoats, and wondered if Frampton was designedly dooming them to premature graves.
A few, a very few, of the more sensible ones, tried to knock up a little practice game and prepare themselves for the terrible ordeal.