"Still, he's Biffen's."
"I don't care whether he's a water-lily or not—he can't help that, you know, poor fellow."
"Why should he? Aren't we cock house?"
"Where would you have been if Acton hadn't lifted you out of your muddy pond, and let you see a little sunlight?"
"You should be his fag," said Grim.
"I'd jolly well like to," said Jack. "I'd black his boots almost."
"He's a dozen pairs," said Grim.
"Write a poem on his virtues," suggested Rogers.
"Shut up this rot," said Wilson. "Let's try a run round the Bender—last fellow stands tea at Hoopers."
"Carried, nem. con.," said Grim, who was pretty speedy.