Trundle gave way, and the rest of the hour was spent entirely in coughing, shouting and sneezing. No work was done. But that was no unusual occurrence in the extra French set.
This was, of course, the sort of amusement that could be only indulged in once. It would grow stale a second time. But Briault's idea of fancy dress was one that presented infinite opportunities and gave full scope for originality. At first nothing very startling occurred. On a freezing cold day the whole set would assemble without waistcoats and with their coats wide open would complain bitterly of the heat; on a warm day they would go in arrayed as for an Antarctic expedition in wonderful scarves and huge gloves.
"It's disgraceful, sir, how cold this room is," Gordon complained. "I am very sensitive to cold, and there are two windows open. They must be shut."
"Well, Caruthers, if you find this room too cold," replied Trundle sarcastically, "you may return to the warmth of your own study and write me out the lesson ten times. Do you prefer that?"
Trundle thought that rather smart, but Gordon was never beaten.
"Sir, I do prefer an unfairly long imposition to an attack of pneumonia," and with that he sailed out of the room; the "impot" was, of course, never done. Only Benson did things for Trundle.
From this day on to discover a new kind of dress was the aim of Archie's life. What he advised the form always copied. One day the Chief gave out an order that, owing to the extreme cold, woollen waistcoats would be allowed, provided they were of a quiet colour. That night Archie searched the studies. For sixpence he purchased from a new boy a threadbare carpet that had not been brushed or cleaned for generations. This he cut up into six parts, and each School House member of the set somehow or other made for himself a waistcoat out of them. Next day, garbed in these, they rolled sedately to Trundle's, their coats flung open, their hands in their trouser pockets.
Trundle sat speechless. At last he found words.
"What is the meaning of this confounded impertinence? Collins, Mansell, Caruthers, Hunter, Lovelace, and you Fletcher, take off that filthy stuff."
"That stuff, sir," drawled out Forbes. "What stuff?"