And he helped himself to marmalade, of which delicacy his mouth was
full, with a sort of magnificent despondency.

By the end of the first fortnight of his school career, Thomas
Beauchamp Algernon had overcome all the little ruggednesses which
relieve the path of the new boy from monotony. He had been taken in by
a primaeval "sell" which the junior day-room invariably sprang on the
new-comer. But as he had sat on the head of the engineer of the same
for the space of ten minutes, despite the latter's complaints of pain
and forecasts of what he would do when he got up, the laugh had not
been completely against him. He had received the honourable
distinction of extra lesson for ragging in French. He had been
"touched up" by the prefect of his dormitory for creating a
disturbance in the small hours. In fact, he had gone through all the
usual preliminaries, and become a full-blown Eckletonian.

His letters home were so cheerful at this point that a second postal
order relieved the dwindling fortune of Spencer. And it was this,
coupled with the remonstrances of Phipps, that induced the Dencroftian
to break through his icy reserve.

"Look here, Spencer," said Phipps, his conscience thoroughly stirred
by this second windfall, "it's all rot. You must either send back that
postal order, or go and see the chap. Besides, he's quite a decent
kid. We're in the same game at cricket. He's rather a good bowler. I'm
getting to know him quite well. I've got a jolly sight more right to
those postal orders than you have."

"But he's an awful ass to look at," pleaded Spencer.