'He'll leave it,' said Marriott, with conviction.

Nor was he mistaken. Farnie listened with enthusiasm to his nephew's
second excursus on the Monk topic, and, though he said nothing, was
apparently convinced. On the following afternoon Monk, Danvers,
Waterford, and he hired a boat and went up the river together. Gethryn
and Marriott, steered by Wilson, who was rapidly developing into a
useful coxswain, got an excellent view of them moored under the shade
of a willow, drinking ginger-beer, and apparently on the best of terms
with one another and the world in general. In a brief but moving speech
the Bishop finally excommunicated his erring relative. 'For all I
care,' he concluded, 'he can do what he likes in future. I shan't stop
him.'

'No,' said Marriott, 'I don't think you will.'

For the first month of his school life Farnie behaved, except in his
choice of companions, much like an ordinary junior. He played cricket
moderately well, did his share of compulsory fielding at the First
Eleven net, and went for frequent river excursions with Monk, Danvers,
and the rest of the Mob.

At first the other juniors of the House were inclined to resent this
extending of the right hand of fellowship to owners of studies and
Second Eleven men, and attempted to make Farnie see the sin and folly
of his ways. But Nature had endowed that youth with a fund of vitriolic
repartee. When Millett, one of Leicester's juniors, evolved some
laborious sarcasm on the subject of Farnie's swell friends, Farnie, in
a series of three remarks, reduced him, figuratively speaking, to a
small and palpitating spot of grease. After that his actions came in