This little protest stood me in good stead. It put an end to all direct aspersions on my sex, although it was a long while before I was destined to hear the last of delicate insinuations on the topic. And it advanced me very considerably in favour with the four whose noses I had not been fortunate enough to engage. "Look here; stop fooling, you chaps," said one of them, when in due time Master Trimble was permitted to regain his feet. "This new kid had better make up our sixth man here. No other faggery would be likely to take him, so we may as well." I concluded from this remark that the juniors of Mr Sharpe's house were permitted to herd together in half dozens; and on the whole I was disposed rather to bear the ills I had than fly to others I knew not of. "I don't mind," said I, "if you let me be." "Who wants to touch you with a pair of tongs? You may as well pull in with us, and help us kick the others. It'll be a change after the girls' school." "I _wasn't_ at a girls' school," said I, "I told you. All I did was to coach with one of the teachers." "About the same thing, I fancy," said Trimble, blowing his outraged nose somewhat defiantly, "Sarah!" "If you call me Sarah again," said I hotly, "I'll pull your nose again." "All right: Miss Jones, then." "No, not Miss; just Jones." "All serene, just Jones, then shut up; stick on your lavender gloves, and keep your hair on." There was a general laugh at this which vastly solaced the aggrieved Trimble, and encouraged him to refer jocularly to my late hat and boots, topics which I had not the spirit to resent. As soon as these personal matters were disposed of, I was tacitly admitted as a member of the honourable faggery, and invited to express my opinion on a matter which had been engaging the attention of the fraternity before I arrived. "We were thinking," said my late travelling companion, whom his friends addressed as Langrish, "that it would be a score to get up a Philosophical Society in the school. What do you say?" "What to do?" I ventured to ask. "Oh, discussions, and picnics, and larks. What do you suppose we _should_ do? There's a senior club of the kind already. They go in for dry rot--science and history, and that sort of thing. Awful slow, and nobody knows what he's talking about. I flatter myself _we_ should." "We ought to draw up some rules, oughtn't we?" said Trimble. "Rather--forge ahead." Whereupon we crowded solemnly round the small table and put our heads together. One of the party, by the way, answering to the name of Purkis, appeared to be the leading spirit, and made the most valuable suggestions. "Rule 1," dictated he, "That this club be called the Low Heathen Conversation Club." "Hold on," said Trimble; "you've got club coming twice in the same sentence. Bad grammar." "Besides, I thought there was to be something about philosophy," suggested Langrish. "And keeping out the day cads," said Warminster, another of the party.