I remember little of this lesson save that it dispensed--wisely, no
doubt--with the use of the terrestrial globe; that it included a
description of the admiral's country seat in Roscommon, and an
account of a ball given by him to celebrate Mrs. Stimcoe's arrival at
a marriageable age, with a list of the notabilities assembled; and
that it ended in her rapping Doggy Bates over the head with a ruler,
for biting his nails. From that moment anarchy reigned.
It reigned for a week. I have wondered since how our six day-boys
managed to refrain from carrying home a tale which must have brought
their parents down upon us _en masse_. Great is schoolboy honour--
great, and more than a trifle quaint. In any case, the parents must
have been singularly unobservant or singularly slow to reason upon
what they observed; for we sent their backward sons home to them each
night in a mask of ink.
Saturday came, and brought the usual half-holiday. We boarders
celebrated it by a raid upon the back yard of Rogerses--Bully Stokes
being temporarily incapacitated by chicken-pox--and possessed
ourselves, after a gallant fight, of Rogerses' football. Superior
numbers drove us back to our own door, where--at the invocation of
all the householders along Delamere Terrace--the constable
intervened; but we retained the spoil.
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