A small boy is as different from a middle-sized boy as chalk from cheese. He possesses none of the latter's curious dignity and self-consciousness. He has the instincts of the puppy, and appreciates being treated as such. That is to say, he is physically incapable of sitting still for more than fifteen minutes at a time; he is never happy except in the company of a drove of other small boys; and he is infinitely more amenable to fortiter in re than to the suaviter in modo where the enforcement of discipline is concerned. Above all, he would rather have his head smacked than be ignored.
Mr. Bull greeted his chattering flock with a hearty roar of salutation, coupled with a brisk command to them to get into their places and be quick about it. He was answered by a shrill and squeaky chorus, and having thrown open the form-room door herded the whole swarm within, assisting stragglers with a genial cuff or two; the which, coming from so great a hero, were duly cherished by their recipients as marks of special favour.
Having duly posted up the names and tender ages of his Nippers in his mark-book, Mr. Bull announced:
"Now we must appoint the Cabinet Ministers for the term."
Instantly there came a piping chorus.
"Please, sir, can I be Scavenger?"
"Please, sir, can I be Obliterator?"
"Please, sir, can I be Window-opener?"
"Please, sir, can I be Inkslinger?"
"Please, sir, can I be Coalheaver?"