It hadn't been so bad at the beginning of the term, when Bosher's crib to the Caesar and Wakefield's key to Colenso's arithmetic had lent them their genial aid.
But ever since Mr Parrett, in the vindictiveness of his heart, had suddenly started Eutropius in the place of Caesar, and Todhunter in the place of Colenso, life had barely been worth living.
It was this last grievance which was the special topic of discussion at an informal tea-party held, about a week after the Rockshire match, in Parson's study.
The company solaced their wounded feelings with unlimited bloater-paste and red-currant jam, and under the soothing influence of these condiments, aided by the watery contents of Parson's teapot, their sorrows found relief in words.
"I bet anything he pitched on Eutropius," said Parson, with his cup to his lips, "because he knows nobody ever wrote a crib to him." "I don't suppose any one could make him out enough," said King.

"It's awful rot." "Yes, and Ashley says it's awfully bad Latin." Parson laughed satirically.
"Jolly lot they care what sort of Latin it is as long as they can do us over it." "I believe," said Bosher, "Gilks has a key to Todhunter." "He has?
Young Telson had better collar it, then," said King, whose opinions on the laws of property as regarded cribs were lax.
"Bah! What's the use of bothering ?" cried Parson, pouring himself out his eighth cup of tea.

"If he pulls me up for not doing the beastly things I shall tell him they're too hard, straight out." "Tell him it's jolly gross conduct," cried a voice at the door, followed immediately by Telson, who, contrary to all rules, had slipped across to pay a friendly visit.
He was welcomed with the usual rejoicing, and duly installed at the festive board.
"It's all right if I am caught," said he.

"Gilks sent me a message to Wibberly, and I just dropped in here on the way.

I say, who's going to lick, you or Welch's ?" "Welch's!" exclaimed the company, in general contempt.