Chapter 3 The Usher washes his hands.

Mr. Jebez North had not his little room quite to himself at Dr. Tappendens.

There are some penalties, attendant even on being a good young man, and our friend, Jebez,

sometimes found his very virtues rather inconvenient.

It happened that Ola-Compon Jr. was ill of a fever, sometimes delirious.

And as the Usher was such an excellent young person, beloved by the pupils, and trusted

implicitly by the master, the sick little boy was put under his special care, and a bed

was made up for him in Jebez's room.

This very November night, when the Usher comes upstairs, his great desk under one arm,

he is very strong, this Usher, and a little feeble, tallow candle in his left hand, he

finds the boy very ill indeed.

He does not know Jebez, for he is talking of a boat race, a race that took place in the

bright summer gone by.

He is sitting upon the pillow, weaving his little thin hand, and crying out at the top of

his feeble voice.

Bravo, Red, Red wins, three cheers for Red.

Go it, go it, Red, Blues beat, I say Blues beat.

George Harris won the day.

I've backed George Harris.

I've bet six penorth of Toffee on George Harris.

Go it, Red.

We're worse tonight than, said the Usher.

...