so, however, that Gordon let this affair
worry him. The holidays were only forty-eight hours off and he was
longing to hear the results of the exams., and to know whether he had a
prize.

Prize-giving was always held at five o'clock on the last Monday. And the
afternoon dragged by very slowly. Mansell assumed a cheerful
indifference. He thought his motor bike fairly certain. Rumour had it
there were going to be at least twelve promotions into the Lower Fifth.
Jeffries and Lovelace had also nothing to worry about; there was little
doubt as to their positions. Hunter specialised in chemistry, and had
done no examination papers. But for Gordon the suspense was intolerable.
He could find nothing to do; he climbed up the Abbey tower, and wrote
his name on the big hand of the clock; he roped up his playbox, tipped
the school porter; and still there was an hour and a half to put in.
Disconsolately he wandered down town. He strolled into Gisson's, the
school book-seller's: it contained nothing but the Home University
Library series and numerous Everymans. It was just like his first day
over again. But at last five o'clock came, and he sat with his four
friends at the back of the big schoolroom. He grew more and more tired
of hearing the lists of the Second and Third Forms read out. What
interest did he take in the doings of Pappenheim and Guttridge tertius?
IV. A was reached at length. The list was read from the bottom.

Not placed--Hunter.

Slowly the names were read out; the single figures were now reached:

Mansell--term's work, eighteen. Exams., one. Combined order, four.

This difference of position caused a titter to run round among those of
the School House who knew the cause of it. The third name and then the
second was reached:

Caruthers--Term's work, one. Exams., three. Combined order, one.

Term's Prize--Caruthers. Exams.--Mansell.

The latter's performance was the signal for an uproarious outburst of
applause, in which laughter played a large part. There was still more
merriment when it was discovered that he had got as a prize _Sartor
Resartus_. As he crudely put it: "What the bloody hell does it mean?"
Gordon got the _Indian Mutiny_, by Malleson. Both books now repose, as
do most prizes, in the owners' book-cases, unread.

"Congrats, Mansell, old fellow," yelled Lovelace minor, as the school
poured out at the end of the prize-giving. "Glorious! What a School
House triumph."

"Yes, you know," said Man