CHAPTER I AN INDIGNATION MEETING "Well, well, by all that's good! If it isn't Tom Fairfield back again!How are you, old man?" "Oh, fine and dandy! My! but it's good to see the old place again, Morse," and the tall, good-looking lad whom the other had greeted so effusively held out his hand—a firm, brown hand that told of a summer spent in the open. "Any of our boys back, Morse?" went on Tom Fairfield, as he looked around the campus of... more...

CHAPTER I—THE BROWN FAMILY "I'm the Poet of White Horse Vale, sir,With liberal notions under my cap."—Ballad The Browns have become illustrious by the pen of Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle, within the memory of the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at the universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but late fame which has now fallen upon them, any one at all acquainted with the family must feel that much has yet to be... more...

THOMAS HUGHES. Thomas Hughes is a native of the royal county of Berkshire, England. From the nursery windows of the old farmhouse in Uffington, where he was born, in 1823, he delighted in looking out on that famous White Horse Hill which he describes in the opening chapters of "Tom Brown's School Days." His father was such an English squire as he represents Tom's father to be, and his grandfather was vicar of the parish, and therefore a man of... more...

A Short Summary, With Some Explanations of Concepts Presented byHughes, but Not Well Defined by Him, Being Apparently WellUnderstood in His Day, but With Which Modern Readers May beUnfamiliar. This is the sequel to Hughes' more successful novel Tom Brown's School Days, which told about Tom at the Rugby School from the age of 11 to 16. Now Tom is at Oxford University for a three year program of study, in which he attends class lectures and does... more...

A Change. “Yes, she must go to school!” repeated Mr Chester. A plaintive sob greeted his words from the neighbourhood of the sofa. For once in her life Mrs Chester’s kindly, good-tempered face had lost its smiles, and was puckered up into lines of distress. She let one fat, be-ringed hand drop to her side and wander restlessly over the satin skirt in search of a pocket. Presently out came a handkerchief, which was applied to... more...

An Unexpected Remove "Gwen! Gwen Gascoyne! Gwen! Anybody seen her? I say, have you all gone deaf? Don't you hear me? Where's Gwen? I—want—Gwen—Gascoyne!" The speaker—Ida Bridge—a small, perky, spindle-legged Junior, jumped on to the nearest seat, and raising her shrill voice to its topmost pitch, twice shouted the "Gwen Gascoyne", with an aggressive energy calculated to make herself heard above the babel of general... more...

The last of the old Captain. Something unusual is happening at Willoughby. The Union Jack floats proudly over the old ivy-covered tower of the school, the schoolrooms are deserted, there is a band playing somewhere, a double row of carriages is drawn up round the large meadow (familiarly called “The Big”), old Mrs Gallop, the orange and sherbert woman, is almost beside herself with business flurry, and boys are going hither and... more...

"With apologies to gent opposite," said Clowes, "I must say I don't think much of the team." "Don't apologise to me," said Allardyce disgustedly, as he filled the teapot, "I think they're rotten." "They ought to have got into form by now, too," said Trevor. "It's not as if this was the first game of the term." "First game!" Allardyce laughed shortly. "Why, we've only got a couple of club matches and the return match with Ripton to end the... more...

THE VARMINT I When young Stover disembarked at the Trenton station on the fourth day after the opening of the spring term he had acquired in his brief journey so much of the Pennsylvania rolling stock as could be detached and concealed. Inserted between his nether and outer shirts were two gilt "Directions to Travelers" which clung like mustard plasters to his back, while a jagged tin sign, wrenched from the home terminal, embraced his stomach... more...

CHAPTER I. A NEW BOY. "What's your name?" "Diggory Trevanock." The whole class exploded. "Now, then," said Mr. Blake, looking up from his mark-book with a broad grin on his own face—"now, then, there's nothing to laugh at.—Look here," he added, turning to the new boy, "how d'you spell it?" Instead of being at all annoyed or disconcerted at the mirth of his class-mates, the youngster seemed rather to enjoy the joke, and... more...