CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
THE GROWLER.
Who doesn't know Growler, of our school?
He was a sort of fellow nothing and nobody could satisfy.

If Growler were a week in an African desert without a drop of water to drink, and some one were then to come and offer him a draught, you may depend upon it the fellow would have something to find fault with.

The rim of the bowl would be too thick, or there would be a flavour of sand in the water, or the Good Samaritan who held it to his parched lips wouldn't tilt it up exactly when he ought to do so.

If his rich uncle were to give him a splendid gold hunter watch and chain, he would growl because there wasn't a seal hanging on the latter.

If he were to succeed in getting a third prize, he'd growl because he had not got the second.