"He let them all off, and begged their pardons or something.

But I'm jolly glad Parrett was down on them.

He's stopped their river-play, and they won't be able to show up at the regatta." "I'm jolly glad!" said Cusack; "chaps like them deserve to catch it, don't they, Pil ?" "Rather!" replied Pilbury.
A silence ensued, during which both heroes were doubtless meditating upon the unexampled iniquities of the Parrett juniors.
Presently Pilbury observed somewhat dolefully, "Beastly slow, isn't it, Cusack ?" "What's beastly slow ?" "Oh, everything! No fun kicking up a row if there's no one to pull you up.

I'm getting sick of rows." Cusack stared at his friend with rather concerned looks.

He could not be well, surely, or he would never come out with sentiments like those.
"Fact is," continued Pilbury, contemplatively balancing himself on one foot on the corner of the fender, "I've half a notion to go in for being steady this term, old man, just for a change." As if to suit the action to the word, the fender suddenly capsized under him, and shot him head first into the waistcoat of his friend.
Cusack solemnly restored him to his feet and replied, "Rather a rum start, isn't it ?" "Well," said Pilbury, examining his shin to see if it had been grazed by the treacherous fender, "I don't see what else there is to do.