“I'll certainly put on the gloves to-morrow,” whispered I to Coleman—to which he replied by a sympathetic wink, adding:—
“And now I think you had better get ready, more particularly as you will have to find out 'how to dress jugged hair,' as the cookery-books say”.
By dint of almost superhuman exertions I did just contrive to get down in time for dinner, though my unfortunate “jugged hair,” which was anything but dry, must have presented rather a singular appearance. In the course of dinner Dr. Mildman told us that we should have the whole of the next day to ourselves, as he was obliged to go to London on business, and should not return till the middle of the day following—an announcement which seemed to afford great satisfaction to his hearers, despite an attempt made by Cumberland to keep up appearances, by putting on a look of mournful resignation, which, being imitated by Coleman, who, as might be expected, rather overdid the thing, failed most signally.
CHAPTER IV — WHEREIN IS COMMENCED THE ADVENTURE OF THE MACINTOSH, AND OTHER MATTERS
“How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes ill deeds done.”
“Come, tailor, let us see't;
Oh! mercy.... What masking stuff is here?
What's this? a sleeve?”
“Disguise, I see; thou art a wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.”
“A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!”
—Shakspeare.
ON returning to the pupils' room Lawless commenced (to my great delight, as I thereby enjoyed a complete immunity from his somewhat troublesome attentions) a full, true, and particular account of the pigeon-match, in which his friend Clayton had, with unrivalled skill, slain a sufficient number of victims to furnish forth pies for the supply of the whole mess during the ensuing fortnight. At length, however, all was said that could be said, even upon this interesting subject, and the narrator, casting his eyes around in search of wherewithal to amuse himself, chanced to espy my new writing-desk, a parting gift from my little sister Fanny, who, with the self-denial of true affection, had saved up her pocket-money during many previous months in order to provide funds for this munificent present.
“Pinafore, is that desk yours?” demanded Lawless.
Not much admiring the sobriquet by which he chose to address me, I did not feel myself called upon to reply.
“Are you deaf, stupid? don't you hear me speaking to you?—where did you get that writing-desk?”