He hated the dry-rot like poison, and could not rest till he had ripped up every board and rafter that harboured it.
Any ordinary reformer would have been satisfied with the week's work he had already accomplished.

But Mr Frampton added yet another blow at the very heart of the dry-rot before the week was out.
On the day before the football match Bolsover was staggered, and, so to speak, struck all of a heap by the announcement that in future the school tuck-shop would be closed until after the dinner hour! Fellows stared at one another with a sickly, incredulous smile when they first heard the grim announcement and wondered whether, after all, the new head-master _was_ an escaped lunatic.

A few gifted with more presence of mind than others bethought them of visiting the shop and of dispelling the hideous nightmare by optical demonstration.
Alas! the shutters were up.

Mother Partridge was not at the receipt of custom, but instead, written in the bold, square hand of Mr Frampton himself, there confronted them the truculent notice, "The shop will for the future be open only before breakfast and after dinner." "Brutal!" gasped Farfield, as he read it.

"Does he mean to starve us as well as drown us ?" "Hard lines for poor old Mother Partridge," suggested Scarfe.
This cry took.