Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Parkhurst Boys And other stories of School Life By Talbot Baines Reed ________________________________________________________________________ This is a collection of short stories and articles, mostly about boys at school. There are four groups of these stories: seven about a school called Parkhurst, detailing major events such as matches and boat races. The second section consists of eleven discourses on different types of boy, such as "The Sneak". The third section contains twelve stories about boys who have played their part in English History, such as the two young "Princes in the Tower", Dick Whittington, Edward the Sixth, and so on. The final section consists of seven general stories of greater length than the foregoing. The whole book, though not really long, is quite amusing, though of course very dated. You'll enjoy it. I personally prefer to listen to these books. NH. ________________________________________________________________________ PARKHURST BOYS AND OTHER STORIES OF SCHOOL LIFE BY TALBOT BAINES REED Part one. Parkhurst Sketches. CHAPTER ONE. MY FIRST FOOTBALL MATCH. It was a proud moment in my existence when Wright, captain of our football club, came up to me in school one Friday and said, "Adams, your name is down to play in the match against Craven to-morrow." I could have knighted him on the spot. To be one of the picked "fifteen," whose glory it was to fight the battles of their school in the Great Close, had been the leading ambition of my life--I suppose I ought to be ashamed to confess it--ever since, as a little chap of ten, I entered Parkhurst six years ago. Not a winter Saturday but had seen me either looking on at some big match, or oftener still scrimmaging about with a score or so of other juniors in a scratch game. But for a long time, do what I would, I always seemed as far as ever from the coveted goal, and was half despairing of ever rising to win my "first fifteen cap." Latterly, however, I had noticed Wright and a few others of our best players more than once lounging about in the Little Close, where we juniors used to play, evidently taking observations with an eye to business. Under the awful gaze of these heroes, need I say I exerted myself as I had never done before? What cared I for hacks or bruises, so only that I could distinguish myself in their eyes? And never was music sweeter than the occasional "Bravo, young 'un!" with which some of them would applaud any special feat of skill or daring. So I knew my time was coming at last, and only hoped it would arrive before the day of the Craven match, the great match of our season-- always looked forward to as _the_ event of the Christmas term, when victory was regarded by us boys as the summit of all human glory, and defeat as an overwhelming disgrace.