It was a pity, perhaps, he could not catch their actual words.
"Seems jolly green," said Dig.
"So he is.

Blushes like a turkey-cock when you talk about spoons.
Never mind, he's bound to be civil to us this term, eh, Dig?
We've got the whip hand of him, I guess, over that summer-house business at Lucerne." Here Dig laughed.
"Shut up! He'll hear!" "What's the joke ?" demanded a bullet-headed, black-eyed boy who sat near.
"What, didn't I tell you, Dimsdale?
Keep it close, won't you?
You see that chap with the eyeglass next to Grover.

That's Railsford, our new master--Marky, I call him.

He's engaged to Daisy, you know, my sister.
Regular soup-ladles they are." Here Dig once more laughed beyond the bounds of discretion.
"What an ass you are, Dig!" expostulated Arthur; "you'll get us in no end of a mess." "Awfully sorry--I can't help.

Tell Dimsdale about--you know." "Don't go spreading it, though," said Arthur, shutting his eyes to the fact that he was confiding his secret to the greatest gossip in Grandcourt, and that one or two other heads were also craned forward to hear the joke.