Wright had not forgotten Montagu’s advice, and had endeavored to get the names of boys who wern’t afraid to scout publicly the disgrace of cheating in form. But he could only get one name promised him--the name of Vernon Williams; and feeling how little could be gained by using it, he determined to spare Vernon the trial, and speak, if he spoke at all, on his own responsibility. As usual, the cribbing at the next weekly examination was well-nigh universal, and when Mr. Gordon went out to fetch something he had forgotten, merely saying, “I trust to your honor not to abuse my absence,” books and papers were immediately pulled out with the coolest and most unblushing indifference. This was the time for Wright to deliver his conscience; he had counted the cost, and, rightly or wrongly considering it to be his duty, he had decided that speak he would. He well knew that his interference would be attributed to jealousy, meanness, sneaking, and every kind of wrong motive, since he was himself one of the greatest sufferers from the prevalent dishonesty; but still he had come to the conclusion that he _ought_ not to draw back, and therefore he bravely determined that he would make his protest, whatever happened. So, very nervously, he rose and said, “I want to tell you all that I think this cheating very wrong and blackguardly. I don’t mind losing by it myself, but if Vernon Williams loses the prize in the lower fourth, and any one gets it by copying, I’ve made up my mind to tell Gordon.” His voice trembled a little at first, but he spoke fast, and acquired firmness as he went on. Absolute astonishment and curiosity had held the boys silent with amazement, but by the end of this sentence they had recovered themselves, and a perfect burst of derision and indignation followed. “Let’s see if _that’ll_ cut short his oration,” said Wildney, throwing a book at his head, which was instantly followed by others from all quarters. “My word! we’ve had nothing but lectures lately,” said Brooking. “Horrid little Owenite saint.” “Saint!--sneak, you mean. I’ll teach him,” growled Pietrie, and jumping up, he belabored Wright’s head with the Latin grammar out of which he had just been cribbing. The whole room was in confusion and hubbub, during which Wright sat stock still, quietly enduring without bowing to the storm. Only one boy sympathised with him, but he did so deeply--poor little penitent Vernon. He felt his position hard because Wright had alluded so prominently to him, and he knew how much he must be misconstrued, but he had his brother’s spirit, and would not shrink. Amid the tumult he got up in his seat, and they heard his pleasant, childish voice saying boldly, “I hope Wright won’t tell; but he’s the best fellow in the room, and cribbing _is_ a shame, as he says.” What notice would have been taken of this speech is doubtful, for at the critical moment Mr. Gordon reappeared, and the whispered cavè caused instantaneous quiet.