This was true. The boy had been in school that morning to some purpose,
having beaten all records (his own records) in the gentle sport of
Mellish-baiting. This evidently occurred to Mellish at the time, for he
dropped the subject at once, and told us to begin our papers.

Now I have remarked already that I dare not say what I think of
Thucydides, Book II. How then shall I frame my opinion of that
examination paper? It was Thucydides, Book II, with the few easy parts
left out. It was Thucydides, Book II, with special home-made
difficulties added. It was--well, in its way it was a masterpiece.
Without going into details--I dislike sensational and realistic
writing--I may say that I personally was not one of those who required
an extra ten minutes to finish their papers. I finished mine at
half-past two, and amused myself for the remaining hour and a half by
writing neatly on several sheets of foolscap exactly what I thought of
Mr Mellish, and precisely what I hoped would happen to him some day. It
was grateful and comforting.

At intervals I wondered what had become of Bradshaw. I was not
surprised at his absence. At first I had feared that he would keep his
word in that matter. As time went on I knew that he would. At more
frequent intervals I wondered how I should enjoy being a bankrupt.

Four o'clock came round, and found me so engrossed in putting the
finishing touches to my excursus of Mr Mellish's character, that I
stayed on in the form-room till ten past. Two other members of the form
stayed too, writing with the despairing energy of those who had five
minutes to say what they would like to spread over five hours. At last
Mellish collected the papers. He seemed a trifle surprised when I gave
up my modest three sheets. Brown and Morrison, who had their eye on the