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Updated: June 28, 2025
"We ought to call it the ARVONIAN," decided Cossington, "and we might very well have underneath, 'With which is incorporated the OBSERVER. That picks up the old traditions, makes an appeal to old boys and all that, and it gives us something to print under the title." I still held out for CITY MERCHANDIZE, which had taken my fancy.
"Some of the chaps' people won't like it," said Naylor, "certain not to. And it sounds Rum." "Sounds Weird," said a boy who had not hitherto spoken. "We aren't going to do anything Queer," said Shoesmith, pointedly not looking at Britten. The question of the title had manifestly gone against us. "Oh! HAVE it ARVONIAN," I said. "And next, what size shall we have?" said Cossington.
What of ARVONIAN? Richard Arvon was our founder, and it seems almost a duty " "They call them all -usians or -onians," said Britten. "I like CITY MERCHANDIZE," I said. "We could probably find a quotation to suggest oh! mixed good things." Cossington regarded me abstractedly.
Cossington was at that time a rather heavy, rather good-looking boy who was chiefly eminent in cricket, an outsider even as we were and preoccupied no doubt, had we been sufficiently detached to observe him, with private imaginings very much of the same quality and spirit as our own.
"I could do that all right," said Shoesmith, brightening and manifestly becoming pregnant with judgments. "One great thing about a magazine of this sort," said Cossington, "is to mention just as many names as you can in each number. It keeps the interest alive. Chaps will turn it over looking for their own little bit. Then it all lights up for them." "Do you want any reports of matches?"
"It would have to be done amazingly well," said Britten, and my mind went back to my school days and that ancient enterprise of ours, and how Cossington had rushed it. Well, Cossington had too many papers nowadays to interfere with us, and we perhaps had learnt some defensive devices. "But this thing has to be linked to some political party," said Crupp, with his eye on me.
The font is Norm.; some Norm. work remains in the N. porch, and there is a Jacobean pulpit. Bawdrip, a small village, 1 m. from Cossington, and 3-1/4 m. N.E. of Bridgwater. It possesses an interesting little cruciform church, with a central tower supported on E.E. or Early Dec. arches.
"If the fellows are going to write " began Britten. "We ought to keep off fine writing," said Shoesmith. "It's cheek. I vote we don't have any." "We sha'n't get any," said Cossington, and then as an olive branch to me, "unless Remington does a bit. Or Britten. But it's no good making too much space for it." "We ought to be very careful about the writing," said Shoesmith.
We had been discussing Cossington's recent peerage, for Cossington, my old schoolfellow at City Merchants', and my victor in the affair of the magazine, had clambered to an amazing wealth up a piled heap of energetically pushed penny and halfpenny magazines, and a group of daily newspapers. I had expected to find the great lady hostile to the new-comer, but she accepted him, she gloried in him.
Hitherto we had not considered Cossington mattered very much in the world. He went over us as a motor-car goes over a dog. There was a sort of energy about him, a new sort of energy to us; we had never realised that anything of the sort existed in the world. We were hopelessly at a disadvantage.
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