The next day came at last. Two days ago, in the Fifth Form, at any rate, it would have been uphill work for any master to attempt to conduct morning class in the face of all the eagerness and enthusiasm with which the result of the examinations would have been looked-for. Now, however, there was all the suspense, indeed, but it was the suspense of dread rather than triumph. "Never mind," said Ricketts to Pembury, after the two had been talking over the affair for the twentieth time. "Never mind; and there's just this, Tony, if Wray is only second, it will be a splendid win for the Fifth all the same." "I see nothing splendid in the whole concern," said Pembury. And that was the general feeling. Oliver entered and took his accustomed seat in silence. No one spoke to him, many moved away from him, and nearly all favoured him with a long and unfriendly stare. All these things he took unmoved. He sat coolly waiting for class to begin, and when it did begin, any one would have supposed he was the only comfortable and easy-minded fellow in the room. The lesson dragged on languidly that morning. Most of the boys seemed to regard it as something inflicted on them to pass the time rather than as a serious effort of instruction. The clock crawled slowly on from ten to eleven, and from eleven to half-past, and every one was glad when at last Mr Jellicott closed his book. Then followed an interval of suspense. The Doctor was due with the results, and was even now announcing them in the Sixth. What ages it seemed before his footsteps sounded in the passage outside the Fifth! At last he entered, and a hush fell over the class. One or two glanced quickly up, as though they hoped to read their fate in the head master's face. Others waited, too anxious to stir or look up. Others groaned inwardly with a sort of prophetic foresight of what was to come. The Doctor walked up to the desk and unfolded his paper. Wraysford looked furtively across the room to where his old friend sat. There was a flush in Oliver's face as he followed the Doctor with his eyes; he was breathing hard, Wraysford could see, and the corners of his mouth were working with more than ordinary nervousness. "Alas!" thought Wraysford, "I don't envy him his thoughts!" The Doctor began to speak. "The following are the results of the various examinations held on Monday. English Literature--maximum number of marks 100. 1st, Bullinger, 72 marks; 2nd, West, 68; 3rd, Maybury, 51; 4th, Simon, 23. I'm afraid, Simon, you were a little too venturesome entering for an examination like this. Your paper was a very poor performance." Simon groaned and gulped down his astonishment. "I say," whispered he to Oliver, who sat in front of him, "I know it's a mistake: you know I wrote five cantos about the Shar--good too. He's lost that. I say, had I better tell him?"