Smith, Gordon, and Hart minor, three little boys aged about eleven, were
in the third division of the school. They were not in the eleven, nor
had they any hopes of ever attaining that glory, which conferred the
privilege of wearing white flannel instead of grey flannel trousers, and
a white flannel cap with a red Maltese cross on it. To tell the truth,
the spectacle of this seemingly endless game, in which they did not
have even the satisfaction of seeing their own side victorious, began to
weigh on their spirits.

They climbed up on to the wooden scaffolding and organised a game of
their own, an utterly childish game, which consisted of one boy throwing
some dried horse chestnuts from the top of the scaffolding into the
mouth of the boy at the bottom. They soon became engrossed in their
occupation, and were thoroughly enjoying themselves, when one of the
masters, Mr. Whitehead by name, came towards them with a face like
thunder, biting his knuckles, a thing which he did when he was very
angry.

"Go indoors at once," he said. "Go up to the third division school-room
and do two hours' work. You can copy out the Greek irregular verbs."

The boys, taken completely by surprise, but accepting this decree as
they accepted everything else, because it never occurred to them
it could be otherwise, trotted off, not very disconsolate, to the
school-room. It was very hot out of doors; it was cool in the third
division school-room.

They got out their steel pens, their double-lined copy books, and began
mechanically copying out the Greek irregular verbs, with which they were
so superficially familiar, and from which they were so fundamentally