the walls, and the windows with his paper truncheon. The little man could not keep still.
"I told you so,—my dear fellow. What,—what! Look at him. Scholar of Trinity! Much cooler than we are. Get up, you young rascal, and dance on the table."
He punched Sorrell's chest.
"Licked all the little smug fellows! One of 'em sniffled all day—I hear. What are we going to do about it?"
"Roland is giving a dinner."
"By Jove,—that's it. Kit,—I'll box you three rounds after dinner. Scholar of Trinity!"
Triumphantly he flattened a fly on the page of a Hebrew dictionary that was lying open on the table.
