ay them back in joke, and then it'll be all right."

"Will it?" growled Bacon. "I know better. Why, they hate day-boys like
poison, and they'll let you all feel it too. I had a nice dose of it
last term, and I'm jolly glad there are some more of you to share it
with me this time."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said a boy called Armitage. "And are they all
such donkeys as to care whether we sleep here or not?"

"They're all such sheep as to follow the same track blindly, and not
dare to act on their own hook," replied Bacon. "It's the fashion to run
down day-boys, that's all. But it's a beastly shame, and I almost wish
West hadn't let me in."

"Oh, rubbish!" said Brady. "Fashions change quickly. We'll have a
ripping time, in spite of everybody."

Meanwhile the boarders were discussing matters from their point of view.

"It's just what I expected," said Norman Hallett, a tall, well-built
boy, who was the eldest in the school. "Once open the door--only a
chink--and in pours the whole town." He waved a half-eaten crust to
illustrate the pouring in.

"West had better drop the name of Brincliffe, and call us Elmridge
Grammar School at once. That's what we are now," observed Green.

"I don't mind so much about that," said a grave-faced boy, whose name
was Vickers; "but what I do hate is the way day-boys spoil everything.
It can't be helped, but nothing's ever fair or equal when once day-boys
get mixed up with a school. I'll tell you exactly what happens.
First"--and here the speaker laid his forefinger on his thumb to mark
the order--"First, they're always trying to make you green with envy by
talking about the jolly things they're going to. Second, they're
continually getting holidays for themselves on some pretence or other.
Third, they love to pity you, and declare they'd shoot themselves rather
than be regular boarders. Fourth, they buy cribs and keys, and keep them
at home, and get help from their fathers, and work extra hours, and
spoil your chance of a prize altogether. Fifth, they're for ever
sniggering over private jokes about people you neither know nor want
to--"

"Hold, Vickers, my dear chap!" broke in Cadbury, the school jester. "It
pains me to check the fluency of our golden-mouthed orator, but I've
been waiting in vain for 'Finally'. Let's have an innings. What I object
to is that they're such a horrid lot. Cocky to a degree--simply think
no end of themselves--and lose their hair altogether at the first lit