"And it's perfectly horrid to begin again with new boys, I tell you. I'd rather run away to sea!" Wilfred's courage failing him once more, he looked the picture of despair.
St. George seeing it, left his own part of the trouble, and turned comforter:
"We're in for it, so all that is left is to face the music."
"Only half-yearly vacations," threw in Wilfred.
St. George's face fell.
"And no boxes from home allowed."
St. George had no words of comfort.
"And no extra 'outs' ever given for good behavior. If there were, I'd set up for a saint," added the victim savagely.
St. George was still silent.
"And all letters must pass through preceptor's hands. Oh! I've seen the bill," said Wilfred in the depths, "besides hearing father and mother read it a good half dozen times. It's just as bad as it can be—a regular old hole of a prison, is Doctor Gowan's Select School for Boys," throwing into his voice as much animosity as he was capable of.