But, bless you! ordinary work and games, at which both were good, never found sufficient scope for the energies of Tod and Peter, and by the time the first month was up they began their tricks.
One Mr. Neatby, M.A., taught the twins chemistry. Not that they went to him together. They were in different, though, as far as work went, parallel forms, and finding that their systematic “changing” was never so much as suspected, and therefore carried with it no spice of danger or adventure, they gave it up, devoting their energies to the tormenting of Mr. Neatby, who had by his severity incurred their august displeasure.
Mr. Neatby was tall, severe, and dignified. He really liked his subject, but felt, as a rule, little affection for his pupils. Nevertheless, he was conscientious to the last degree in the discharge of his duties. His way of expressing himself was what Peter called “essayish”; he gave lines lavishly, and had but little mercy on the reckless breaker of test-tubes. He did not rant, or stamp, or call people by opprobrious names, as did many better loved masters. He was always cold, cutting, and superior. But the thing about him that most excited Peter’s animosity was his necktie.
“He wears revolting, jerry-built, Judas-like ties,” the indignant Peter proclaimed to an admiring audience of lower boys; “ties that slip down and show a beastly, brassy stud. His socks, too, leave much to be desired; in fact, his extremities altogether are such as betoken a bad, hard heart.”
“Let me see,” said Tod softly, looking up from a book he was reading; “do you think that a _sending_ might soften the man’s hard heart?”
At this particular stage of the twins’ career, Mr. Kipling was the God of their idolatry, and both of them had “gloated,” even in the manner of the immortal “Stalky” himself, over the vengeance of Ram Das.
“It might be managed,” Peter answered, thoughtfully scratching his smooth chin; “but then again, it may be close-time for kittens just at present; don’t they generally bloom in the spring?”
“There’s always plenty of kittens, you juggins,” ejaculated a prosaic friend. “Why, when I was down at the riding school this morning, there was a cat with six in an empty loose-box; they’ll have to drown five of ’em, they told me. D’your people want one or what?”