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Updated: May 8, 2025
"Now, then," said Tinkleby, "who's next? What's that? All right. Bos. Jones says he will give us a recitation." The announcement was received with a groan. Mr. Boswell-Jones was rather a pompous young gentleman, who expended most of his energies trying to live up to his double surname, and in consequence was not very popular with his schoolfellows.
The two cousins promised they would do so. Every Monday morning, in the classroom, Tinkleby passed round an old missionary box, crying, "Now then! pay up, you beggars. No broken glass or brace buttons!" It was always a race to get the collection over by the time Mr.
"What society?" asked Jack. "The Fifth Form Literary Society." "What's it for?" asked Valentine. "We're neither of us very literary." "Well, to tell you the truth, the society isn't either. It's kept up for the sake of having a feed at the end of every summer term." "What?" cried Jack, laughing. "If you'll listen a moment," said Tinkleby glibly, "I'll explain the whole matter in two words.
They were known to have spent the free time between "prep." and supper, on two consecutive evenings, alone together in the workshop, with the door locked. A great deal of hammering went on, but no one could find out what they were making. When questioned on the subject, they professed a lamb-like state of innocence; and even Tinkleby himself could give no explanation of their conduct.
"I remembah, I remembah, The house where I was bawn, The leetle window where the sun Came peeping in at mawn." "Whose little son?" interrupted Dorris. "Shut up!" cried the president. "Well, I only wanted to know," said Dorris in an injured tone. "I should call it jolly good cheek of anybody's son to come peeping in through my bedroom window " "Shut up!" exclaimed Tinkleby. "Go on, Bos."
"Come along," cried Tinkleby, as the cheers which greeted a win for the Present were gradually dying away "come along. I told Duster to have the grub ready at half-past five sharp, and it's a quarter to six." "Shan't we get into a row for cutting tea?" asked Jack. "No fear," answered the other. "Old Ward knows where we're going; and it's all right as long as we get back before lock-up."
"Look here," said Tinkleby, "those fellows in the Sixth are running that debating show of theirs, and they get let off 'prep. every Saturday night; wherefore I vote we join." "They wouldn't have us," answered Dorris; "they won't allow any one to join if they are lower in the school than Sixth or Remove."
On the following Saturday evening, in answer to the formal invitation which they had received, Tinkleby and his friends filed into the room, looking very good and demure, and occupied the desk against the end wall, which they entered as though it had been a pew in church.
It was not until several ginger-beer bottles had rolled off the table, and the rickety form had once more gone down with every soul on board, that a sufficient amount of order was restored to enable the president to call on somebody for a song. "Sing yourself, Tinkleby," was the answer. "Give us 'Little Brown Jug." The president complied with the request.
At Easter, Jack and Valentine got their remove into the Fifth, and there became acquainted with a young gentleman who rejoiced in the name of Tinkleby. Tinkleby was a comical-looking fellow of medium height; he wore nippers, and had a perpetual smirk on his lips. "Hallo, you two Fenleighs!" he said, coming up to them on the second morning of the term; "I suppose you'll join our society."
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