'You may jaw,' said Bradshaw at last, 'as much as you jolly well
please, but I'm not going to give this away. All you're going to know
is that I shan't be there tomorrow.'

'I bet you are, and I bet you do a jolly rank paper too,' I said,
remembering that the sceptic is sometimes vouchsafed revelations to
which the most devout believer may not aspire. It is, for instance,
always the young man who scoffs at ghosts that the family spectre
chooses as his audience. But it required more than a mere sneer or an
empty gibe to pump information out of Bradshaw. He took me up at once.

'What'll you bet?' he said.

Now I was prepared to wager imaginary sums to any extent he might have
cared to name, but as my actual worldly wealth at that moment consisted
of one penny, and my expectations were limited to the shilling
pocket-money which I should receive on the following Saturday--half of
which was already mortgaged--it behoved me to avoid doing anything rash
with my ready money. But, since a refusal would have meant the downfall
of my arguments, I was obliged to name a figure. I named an even
sixpence. After all, I felt, I must win. By what means, other than
illness, could Bradshaw possibly avoid putting in an appearance at the
Thucydides examination?

'All right,' said Bradshaw, 'an even sixpence. You'll lose.'

'Slumbering in barred.'

'Of course.'