he sofa; "I know him pretty well.
He's a very good fellow, but as mad as a hatter. He's called Madman, you
know. And never was such a fellow for getting all sorts of rum things
about him. He tamed two snakes last half, and used to carry them about
in his pocket, and I'll be bound he's got some hedgehogs and rats in his
cupboard now, and no one knows what besides."

"I should like very much to know him," said Arthur; "he was next to me
in the form to-day, and he'd lost his book and looked over mine, and he
seemed so kind and gentle, that I liked him very much."

"Ah, poor old Madman, he's always losing his books," said Tom, "and
getting called up and floored because he hasn't got them."

"I like him all the better," said Arthur.

"Well, he's great fun, I can tell you," said Tom, throwing himself back
on the sofa, and chuckling at the remembrance. "We had such a game with
him one day last half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for some
time in his study, till I suppose some fellow told Mary, and she told
the Doctor. Anyhow, one day a little before dinner, when he came down
from the library, the Doctor, instead of going home, came striding into
the Hall. East and I and five or six other fellows were at the fire, and
preciously we stared, for he don't come in like that once a-year, unless
it is a wet day and there's a fight in the Hall. 'East,' says he, 'just
come and show me Martin's study.' 'Oh, here's a game,' whispered the
rest of us, and we all cut up-stairs after the Doctor, East leading. As
we got into the New Row, which was hardly wide enough to hold the Doctor
and his gown, click, click, click, we heard in the old Madman's den.
Then that stopped all of a sudden, and the bolts went to like fun: the
Madman knew East's step, and thought there was going to be a siege.

"'It's the Doctor, Martin. He's here and wants to see you,' sings out
East.

"Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door opened, and there was the
old Madman standing, looking precious scared; his jacket off, his
shirt-sleeves up to his elbows, and his long skinny arms all covered
with anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with gunpowder like a
sailor-boy's, and a stink fit to knock you down coming out. 'Twas all
the Doctor could do to stand his ground, and East and I, who were
looking in under his arms, held our noses tight. The old magpie was
standing on the window-sill, all his feathers drooping, and looking
disgusted and half-poiso