would never be recovered, most of
them with buttonless waistcoats and torn jackets, half of them with
disfigured faces, all of them drenched to the skin, and every one of
them full of infinite satisfaction and gladness of heart! Their fathers,
who had heard about the battle before they came home and had not failed
to discover who had won, being all Seminary lads themselves, would also
be much lifted, but would feign to be extremely angry at the savagery
of their boys, would wonder where the police were, would threaten their
sons with all manner of punishments if this ever happened again, and
would declare their intention of laying a complaint before the chief
constable. As, however, it was absolutely necessary in the interests of
justice that the whole facts should be known before they took action,
they would skilfully extract the whole Homeric narrative, with every
personal conflict and ruse of war, from their sons, and only when the
last incident had been related would announce their grave and final
displeasure.

As for the police, who were not numerous in Muirtown, and who lived on
excellent good terms with everybody, except tramps, they seemed to have
a prophetic knowledge when a snow-fight was coming on, and were detained
by important duty in distant streets. It was always, however, believed
by the Seminary that two of the police could be seen, one at the
distance of the bridge over the Tay, the other at the far extremity of
Breadalbane Street, following the fight with rapt attention, and in the
case of the Pennies winning, which had been their own school, smacking
their lips and slapping their hands under pretence of warming themselves
in the cold weather, and in the event of the Seminaries winning marching
off in opposite directions, lest they should be tempted to interfere,
which they would have considered contrary to the rules of fair play,
and giving their own school a mean advantage. Perhaps some ingenuous
modern person will ask, "What were the masters of the Seminary about
during this hour?" The Rector was sitting by the fire in his
retiring-room, reading a winter ode of Horace, and as faint sounds of
war reached his ears he would stir the fire and lament, like the quiet
old scholar that he was, that Providence had made him ruler of such a
band of barbarians; but he would also cherish the hope that his
barbarians would not come off second. As for Bulldog, his mind was torn
between two delights--the anticipat