this, but for my own part I always used to regard those seven days as a
blessed period of rest, set apart specially to enable me to keep
abreast of the light fiction of the day. And most of the form, so far
as I know, thought the same. It was only on the night before the
examination that one began to revise in real earnest. One's methods on
that night resolved themselves into sitting in a chair and wondering
where to begin. Just as one came to a decision, it was bedtime.

'Bradshaw,' I said, as I reached page 103 without having read a line,
'do you know any likely bits?'

Bradshaw looked up from his book. He was attempting to get a general
idea of Thucydides' style by reading _Pickwick_.

'What?' he said.

I obliged with a repetition of my remark.

'Likely bits? Oh, you mean for the Thucydides. I don't know. Mellish
never sets the bits any decent ordinary individual would set. I should
take my chance if I were you.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I'm going to read _Pickwick_. Thicksides doesn't come within a
mile of it.'

I thought so too.

'But how about tomorrow?'