like that! Why didn't he come
dressed like a native, instead of disguised as an English lad? And he's
no more like it than chalk's like cheese. Yes, I say the Doctor ought
to be ashamed of himself, bringing a fellow like that into an
establishment for the sons of gentlemen; and I'll tell him so before I
have done."

"Do," said the lad nearest to him; "only do it when we are all there. I
should like to hear you give the Doctor a bit of your mind."

Slegge turned round upon him sharply. "Do you mean that," he said, "or
is it chaff?"

"Mean it? Of course!" cried the boy hastily.

"Lucky for you, then," continued Slegge. "I suppose you haven't
forgotten me giving you porridge before breakfast this time last year?"

"Here, what a chap you are! I didn't mean any harm. But I say, Slegge,
old chap, you did scare them off. I wish the Principal wouldn't have
any more new boys. I say, though, you don't mean to get the wickets
pitched this morning, do you?"

"Of course I do," cried Slegge. "Do you want to go idling and staring
over the wall and look at the show?"

"Well, I--I--"

"There, that will do," cried Slegge. "I know. Just as if there weren't
monkeys enough in the collection without you!"

At this would-be witticism on the part of the tyrant of the school there
was a fresh roar of laughter, which made the unfortunate against whom it
was directed writhe with annoyance, and hurry off to conciliate his
schoolfellow by getting the wickets pitched.

CHAPTER TWO.

DECLARATION OF WAR.

Meanwhile the two lads, who had retired from the field, strolled off
together across the playground down to the pleasant lawn-like level
which the Doctor, an old lover of the Surrey game, took a pride in
having well kept for the benefit of his pupils, giving them a fair
amount of privilege for this way of keeping themselves in health. But
to quote his words in one of his social lectures, he said:

"You boys think me a dreadful old tyrant for keeping you slaving away at
your classics and mathematics, because you recollect the work that you
are often so unwilling to do, while the hours I give you for play quite
slip your minds. Now, this is my invariable rule, that you shall do
everything well: work hard when it's work, and play hard when it's
play."

The two lads, Glyn Severn and his companion of many years, Aziz Singh, a
dark English boy in appearance and speech, but maharajah in his own
right over a powerful pr