210 When we Old Fogeys were Boys. 



It is needless to say that both " smoled a smile." As I said 

 before, bullying prefects belonged to the fireside coteries, 

 who wore rings and used bear's grease, never dirtied their 

 boots or rujffled their hair or neckcloths, and asked one 

 another little riddles, ergo, milksops. 



And now, perhaps, you will ask, what good did this kind 

 of discipline ever do to me ? I will tell you. It taught me 

 a kind of rough-and-ready code of laws of fair play and 

 honour, and stamped out false pride ; and if I had to bring 

 a brown paper parcel to you, and could not afford a cab, I 

 would walk through London with it under my arm and 

 would not be ashamed to do it. And, secondly, if you and 

 I were in the wilds and we came across any eatable animal, 

 I believe I could cut him up and cook him in a way which 

 would make your mouth water, cook a pudding in a pot-lid, 

 and could do hundreds of things for you and me which I 

 should never be able to do but for my boyhood's apprentice- 

 ship. Why, if the Prince of Wales sent word that he 

 would come and breakfast with me — how could I do him 

 most honour ? Would I send for a professed cook from 

 London ? Never ! I would write to my old schoolfellow 

 and former breakfast-fag, Frank Buckland, the best cook 

 and coffee-maker in the world when a boy, and would say, 

 " Frank, my boy, do your best ! " And I will venture to 

 say that H.R.H. would remark, " My mother would like to 

 knight your cook." The manly feeling generated in the 

 little world of a public school has made it an impossibility 

 to me ever to offer three fingers of my left hand to a man 

 who is supposed to be below me in life ; for that is the 

 special privilege of the purse-proud snob, whom I should 

 remarkably like to have for a fag now, and I would do 

 what I was not fond of doing as a boy, and lick him within 

 an inch of his life. 



One word about the biof idle fellows. Hear what General 



