But all the studies that came in addition, whether dictation classes or the staring at maps, the boys resented wofully; and though they were obliged to submit, it did not, I say, improve their temper. One afternoon in October, when everything seemed to have gone wrong, and the school rather wished, on the whole, that they had never been born, or that books had not been invented, or that they were private pupils of the head master's (for _they_ were not to be included in the examination, only the forty foundation boys, the king's scholars), the school was waiting impatiently to hear half-past four strike, for then only another half-hour must elapse before they would be released from school. The choristers had come in at four o'clock from service with the head master, whose week it was for chanting, and had settled down to their respective desks. Henry Arkell, who was at the first desk now, but nothing like its head, for promotion in the school was not attained by proficiency, but by priority of entrance, had come in with the rest; he was senior chorister now, and was seated bending over a book, his head half buried between his raised hands, and his elbows on the desk. "What are you conning there so attentively, Mr. Arkell?" The authoritative words came from Lewis. He was monitor that week, and therefore head of all the school, under the senior boy: his present position on the rolls was that of fourth senior. "I'm reading Greek," replied Henry, without removing his hands or looking up. "I've done my lessons." "Take your hands and elbows down. I should like to see." Down went the hands and elbows, but he did not look up. "I thought it might be an English comedy instead of a Greek tragedy," observed Lewis, satirically; "but it _is_ Greek, I see. Boys, he's reading Greek! He's thinking to take the shine out of us at the examination. Preparing! Oh!" "Not at all," said Henry, quietly. "I should have been as well prepared for the examination at a day's notice, as I am after nearly three months'. So might you have been if you'd chosen." "You insolent young beggar! Do you mean to say I am not prepared?" "I said nothing of the sort, Lewis." "You implied it, though. _You_ needn't think to get the prize--if it's true that the dean gives one." "I don't think to get it. I wish you'd let me go on with my book." "Oh yes, you do. You think to creep up the dean's sleeve, at second hand, through somebody that's a friend of yours; or that you are presumptuous enough to fancy is." He understood the allusion, and suddenly raised his hands again, for the delicate hue of his transparent cheek changed to crimson. Lewis noted the movement. "Now, by Jove, I'll put you up for punishment. I order your elbows off the desk, and you fling them on again in defiance. Wilberforce has flogged for less."