He loafs about with a toady and calls it friendship.

In short, he catches the Bolsover dry- rot, and calls it a public-school training: What is it makes Benjamin and his seventy-nine school-fellows (for Bolsover had its full number of eighty boys this term) in such a particularly ill-humour this grey October morning?
Have his professors and masters gently hinted to him that he is expected to know his lessons next time he goes into class?
Or has the experienced matron been overdoing her attention to his morals?
Ask him.

"What!" he says, "don't you know what the row is?
It's enough to make anybody shirty.
Frampton, this new head-master, you know, he's only been here a week or two, he's going to upset everything.

I wish to goodness old Mullany had stuck on, cad as he was.

He let us alone, but this beast Frampton's smashing the place up.