I seized the nearest, who happened to be Master Trimble, and pulling him gently but firmly by the nose, demanded if girls generally treated him that way? He kicked vigorously, and ordered me to release the imprisoned member. I declined to do so until I had kicked back, and finally deposited him on the floor, amidst the laughter of his perfidious comrades, who told him it served him right, and that “Sarah” was evidently one too many for him.
This little protest stood me in good stead. It put an end to all direct aspersions on my sex, although it was a long while before I was destined to hear the last of delicate insinuations on the topic. And it advanced me very considerably in favour with the four whose noses I had not been fortunate enough to engage.
“Look here; stop fooling, you chaps,” said one of them, when in due time Master Trimble was permitted to regain his feet. “This new kid had better make up our sixth man here. No other faggery would be likely to take him, so we may as well.”
I concluded from this remark that the juniors of Mr Sharpe’s house were permitted to herd together in half dozens; and on the whole I was disposed rather to bear the ills I had than fly to others I knew not of.
“I don’t mind,” said I, “if you let me be.”
“Who wants to touch you with a pair of tongs? You may as well pull in with us, and help us kick the others. It’ll be a change after the girls’ school.”
“I wasn’t at a girls’ school,” said I, “I told you. All I did was to coach with one of the teachers.”
“About the same thing, I fancy,” said Trimble, blowing his outraged nose somewhat defiantly, “Sarah!”
“If you call me Sarah again,” said I hotly, “I’ll pull your nose again.”
“All right: Miss Jones, then.”