To Villers a sweepstake was not only an end in itself but an instrument for investing tedious events with the glamour of adventitious excitement. Moony’s terminal sermon, for instance, could scarcely be regarded as anything but an inevitable ordeal, for the dear gentleman never preached for less than half an hour, and within the memory of man he never said anything which bordered on the interesting. But once, at least, in his life he had an excited audience. Once at least he had a listener who was bitterly disappointed when he petered out under the half-hour. That listener was Villers, who had drawn ‘thirty-five minutes’ in the sweepstake on Moony’s evening run. So, too, the Fortnightly Orders were a subject of interest only to a few eccentrics. But one day Villers decided that the Fortnightly Orders should be made an event of first-class importance. He suggested a sweepstake on the result, and the Lower Fifth welcomed the idea with enthusiasm. Twenty-four members of the form contrived to raise a shilling. The twenty-fifth member of the form declined to enter. ‘Tomkins,’ said Villers with sour contempt, ‘won’t go in. He’s pi. I expect his father is a Baptist.’ There was no truth in the deduction from Tomkins’ piety, but none the less it was thenceforward accepted as a fact that Tomkins came of Baptist stock, and nothing that Tomkins could say to the contrary could wipe out this stigma on the family name. It was an interesting draw. Everybody was pleased when Glover and Taylor drew each other. It should be explained that there were two prizes: one for the boy who drew the top of the form, another for the boy who drew the bottom. Now Glover and Taylor were two veterans who had moved up the school with more dignity than speed. They averaged a remove per annum. They were very ancient and very lazy, and the last two places in the form were theirs by immemorial right. Now, since there was a prize for the drawer of the bottom boy, Taylor and Glover each had a lively interest in insuring that the other should be bottom. Each of them argued that if he could just beat the other he would win twelve shillings, for neither of them could conceive that the wooden spoon should become the property of any other member of the form. Both of them, therefore, while making a great parade of laziness, began surreptitiously to neglect their work a shade less thoroughly than before. There were two favourites for the other prize. Poor Tomkins had declined to enter for the sweepstake, but his name had been entered and had been drawn by Cork. Cork was in the same house as Tomkins, but whereas Tomkins was a mere insignificant scholar Cork was in the Cricket Eleven and a great man. Hitherto he had treated Tomkins with good-humoured contempt. Tomkins was useful to him. Tomkins was responsible for Cork’s classical studies, his French, and his mathematics. Cork did not overwork Tomkins; he did not give him his essays. Somebody else did the essays.