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Mr Feeder was stretching himself in his grey gown, as if, regardless of expense, he were resolved to pull the sleeves off. 'Heigh ho hum! cried Mr Feeder, shaking himself like a cart-horse. 'Oh dear me, dear me! Ya-a-a-ah! Paul was quite alarmed by Mr Feeder's yawning; it was done on such a great scale, and he was so terribly in earnest.
Again John repeated his latest composition. He was beginning to enjoy himself immensely. At the third repetition of the adventures of Sid, a window creaked noisily up. "John Fletcher," came the harsh voice from the upper window. "You're a nasty little boy, and if you don't leave Sidney alone, I'll telephone your mother." "Ya-a-a-ah," jeered Sid in an undertone. John looked and longed.
Hooray-ay! Hooray-ay, ay! What's the time? Twenty-four! Twenty four flat! Where's Caledonia now? Where's Caledonia now? Oh, I'm so glad our boys won. There goes the Caledonia chief. I'll bet he feels like thirty cents, Spanish. Ya-a-a-ah! Ya-a-a-ah! Where's Caledonia now? They can't beat that, the other fellows can't, and it's our trophy for keeps.... Oh, some crank in the next row.
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