But, when the essays were read, Mr. King confined himself wholly to Turkey’s pitiful, puerile, jejune, exploded, unbaked, half-bottomed thesis. He touched, too, on the “lie in the soul,” which was, fundamentally, vulgarity--the negation of Reverence and the Decencies. He broke forth into an impassioned defence of “mere atheism,” which he said was often no more than mental flatulence--transitory and curable by knowledge of life--in no way comparable, for essential enormity, with the debasing pagan abominations to which Turkey had delivered himself. He ended with a shocking story about one Jowett, who seemed to have held some post of authority where King came from, and who had told an atheistical undergraduate that if he could not believe in a Personal God by five that afternoon he would be expelled--as, with tears of rage in his eyes, King regretted that he could not expel McTurk. And Turkey blew his nose in the middle of it. But the aim of education being to develop individual judgment, King could not well kill him for his honest doubts about Shakespeare. And he himself had several times quoted, in respect to other poets: “There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.” So he treated Turkey in Form like a coiled puff-adder; and there was a tense peace among the Augustans. The only ripple was the day before the Army Examiner came, when Beetle inquired if he “need take this exam., sir, as I’m not goin’ up for anything.” Mr. King said there was great need--for many reasons, none of them flattering to vanity. As far as the Army Class could judge, the Examiner was not worse than his breed, and the written “English” paper ran closely on the lines of King’s mid-term General Knowledge test. Howell played his “impassioned Diderot” to the Richardson lead; Stalky his parson in the wig; McTurk his contemptible Swift; Beetle, Steele’s affectionate notes out of the spunging-house to “Dearest Prue,” all in due order. There were, however, one or two leading questions about Shakespeare. A boy’s hand shot up from a back bench. “In answering Number Seven--reasons for Shakespeare’s dramatic supremacy”--he said, “are we to take it Shakespeare _did_ write the plays he is supposed to have written, sir?” The Examiner hesitated an instant. “It is generally assumed that he did.” But there was no reproof in his words. Beetle began to sit down slowly. Another hand and another voice: “Have we got to say we believe he did, sir? Even if we do not?” “You are not called upon to state your beliefs. But we can go into that at _viva voce_ this afternoon--if it interests you.” “Thank you, sir.” “What did you do that for?” Paddy Vernon demanded at dinner. “It’s the lost tribes of Israel game, you ass,” said Howell.