"I began it myself," Peele admitted. "When I saw Polyhymnia [Miss Wantage's real name was Polly, but Peele preferred "Polyhymnia" as being more sonorous] giving that beast Gough two potatoes instead of one, I didn't mean to say a word; but he pitched one into the fireplace, and I couldn't help shying mine at his head. He shied back, and hit Squinnige, and then you fellows all chipped in."
From which it will be gathered that the young gentlemen of Hutton Park Academy were in a state of open rebellion. There were several causes to account for this; but the chief among them was the rivalry which existed between Peele and "Grinny" Gough with regard to Polyhymnia, who was sixteen to their fourteen.
Dr. Wantage had a theory that to teach boys to be gentlemen they should be subjected at an early age to the refining influence of feminine society.
He was a widower. The only feminine society, therefore, that he could provide for the young gentlemen under his charge was that of Polyhymnia, who entered into his plans with the greatest gusto, and announced that she was perfectly willing to sacrifice herself for the good of the school. Had the Doctor been a suspicious man, he would have wondered at this alacrity, but a work on Greek particles absorbed most of his time, and he noticed nothing. Polyhymnia had only been home about a fortnight from school, and was already beginning to find time hang heavily on her hands. She hailed the Doctor's scheme with delight, and made her first public entrance at the boys' dinner, and sat at the head of the table in order to distribute the potatoes.
Peele, who was the first boy to enter the room, made her a lordly bow. "Grinny" Gough came second, put one foot into a hole in the mat, and tumbled heavily at his divinity's feet. The rest of the rank and file made an awkward entrance over "Grinny" Gough's prostrate body, whilst Peele conversed with Polyhymnia, and regarded his rival with lofty contempt.
Polyhymnia declined to carve for the forty young gentlemen, but devoted herself to the distribution of potatoes, boiled in their skins—the potatoes' skins, not the young gentlemen's. On the first day of her doing so each boy was about to devour his potato, when the Tadpole noticed that Peele gracefully removed his from his plate, wrapped it up in his handkerchief, bowed to Polyhymnia, and put it in his pocket—his breast pocket. Polyhymnia blushed; this was true worship. Her blushes were succeeded by others when the whole of Peele's faction proceeded to follow their chief's example, each boy enfolding the precious potato in a more or less dirty pocket-handkerchief. But after about three days' persistent accumulation of potatoes, Nature asserted itself, and Peele's followers felt that it was rather ridiculous to carry about a pound and a half of uneaten vegetables in their pockets. On the fourth day, Gough, with a vigorous sneer at Peele, had, as Peele explained, ostentatiously pitched his extra potato into the fireplace. The next instant he received the point of a particularly hard-skinned potato in his left eye. Two moments later the battle became general, Peele standing in front of Polyhymnia, and shielding her from flying missiles with heroic devotion. Then Squinnige, the usher, came out from under the table, and the result was the suppression of the customary half-holiday, and an absurd "imposition" to be done about the Landes.
"Never heard of the blessed places," said the Tadpole, with a rueful glance at the blackboard. "What are they, anyway?"
"Oh, it's easy enough," said Peele. "You fellows needn't trouble about it. It's where every one goes about on stilts. Now just settle down and do your 'impo,' or Squinnige'll be at us again. He's a victim to duty, is Squinnige, and I want to make things easy for him."
At this moment Gough, surrounded by his faction, approached the platform.
"Come down, and I'll lick your head off," he said to Peele.