It amused Mark to make a fool of himself next morning in the general knowledge paper. He flattered himself that no candidate for a scholarship at St. Osmund's Hall had ever shown such black ignorance of the facts of every-day life. Had he been dropped from Mars two days before, he could scarcely have shown less knowledge of the Earth. Mark tried to convey an impression that he had been injudiciously crammed with Latin and Greek, and in the afternoon he produced a Latin prose that would have revolted the easy conscience of a fourth form boy. Finally, on the third day, in an unseen passage set from the Georgics he translated _tonsisque ferunt mantelia villis_ by _having pulled down the villas (i. e. literally shaved) they carry off the mantelpieces_ which he followed up with translating _Maeonii carchesia Bacchi_ as the _lees of Maeonian wine (i.e. literally carcases of Maeonian Bacchus)_. "I say, Lidderdale," said Emmett, when they came out of the lecture room where the examination was being held. "I had a tremendous piece of luck this afternoon." "Did you?" "Yes, I've just been reading the fourth Georgics last term, and I don't think I made a single mistake in that unseen." "Good work," said Mark. "I wonder when they'll let us know who's got the scholarship," said Emmett. "But of course you've won," he added with a sigh. "I did very badly both yesterday and to-day." "Oh, you're only saying that to encourage me," Emmett sighed. "It sounds a dreadful thing to say and I ought not to say it because it'll make you uncomfortable, but if I don't succeed, I really think I shall kill myself." "All right, that's a bargain," Mark laughed; and when his rival shook hands with him at parting he felt that poor Emmett was going home to Rutland convinced that Mark was just as hard-hearted as the rest of the world and just as ready to laugh at his misfortune.