o've been my backbone ever
since I've been at Rugby, and have made the school a paradise to me. Ah,
I see I shall never do it, unless I go head-over-heels at once, as you
said when you taught me to swim. Tom, I want you to give up using
vulgus-books and cribs."

Arthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if the effort had been
great; but the worst was now over, and he looked straight at Tom, who
was evidently taken aback. He leant his elbows on his knees, and stuck
his hands into his hair, whistled a verse of "Billy Taylor," and then
was quite silent for another minute. Not a shade crossed his face, but
he was clearly puzzled. At last he looked up and caught Arthur's anxious
look, took his hand, and said simply--

"Why, young 'un?"

"Because you're the honestest boy in Rugby, and that ain't honest."

"I don't see that."

"What were you sent to Rugby for?"

"Well, I don't know exactly--nobody ever told me. I suppose because all
boys are sent to a public school in England."

"But what do you think yourself? What do you want to do here, and to
carry away?"

Tom thought a minute. "I want to be A 1 at cricket and football, and all
the other games, and to make my hands keep my head against any fellow,
lout or gentleman. I want to get into the sixth before I leave, and to
please the Doctor; and I want to carry away just as much Latin and Greek
as will take me through Oxford respectably. There now, young 'un, I
never thought of it before, but that's pretty much about my figure.
Ain't it all on the square? What have you got to say to that?"

"Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you want, then."

"Well, I hope so. But you've forgot one thing, what I want to leave
behind me. I want to leave behind me," said Tom, speaking slow, and
looking much moved, "the name of a fellow who never bullied a little
boy, or turned his back on a big one."

Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment's silence went on: "You say,
Tom, you want to please the Doctor. Now, do you want to please him by
what he thinks you do, or by what you really do?"

"By what I really do, of course."

"Does he think you use cribs and vulgus-books?"

Tom felt at once that his flank was turned, but he couldn't give in. "He
was at Winchester himself," said he; "he knows all about it."

"Yes, but does he think _you_ use them? Do you think he approves of it?"

"You young villain!" said Tom, shaking his fist at Arthur, half vexed
and half p