He growled:

"Pipped."

"_Pipped?_"

"Pilled."

"_Pilled?_"

"Spun."

"_Spun?"_

"Three months."

Mr. Marrapit put his hands to his head: "I shall go mad. My brain
reels beneath these conundrums. I implore English."

The confession of defeat is a thousandfold more bitter when made to
unkind ears. George paled a little; spoke very clearly: "I failed. I
was referred for three months."

"I am Job," groaned Mr. Marrapit. "I expected this. The strain is
unendurable. It is unnatural. The next chance shall be your last. What
is the fee for re-examination?"

"Five guineas."

"My God!" said Mr. Marrapit.