"I wish everybody would back his opinion, and give me a shade of odds. Why, I have scarcely thought of my history." "Why the d---l should they make such a fuss about history? One knows perfectly well that those old black-guard heathens were no better than they should be; and what good it can do to lumber one's head with who their grandmothers were, and what they ate, and when and where and why they had their stupid brains knocked out, I can't see for the life of me." "Excellently well put. Where did you pick up such sound views, Drysdale? But you're not examiner yet; and, on the whole, I must rub up my history somehow. I wish I knew how to do it." "Can't you put on a coach?" said Drysdale. "I have one on, but history is my weak point, said Blake. "I think I can help you," said Tom. "I've just been hearing a lecture in Roman history, and one that won't be so easy to forget as most;" and he went on to explain Hardy's plans, to which Blake listened eagerly. "Capital!" he said, when Tom had finished. "In whose rooms did you say they are?" "In Hardy's, and he works at them every night with Grey." "That's the queer big servitor, his particular pal," put in Drysdale; "there's no accounting for tastes." "You don't know him," retorted Tom; "and the less you say about him the better." "I know he wears highlows and short flannels, and-" "Would you mind asking Hardy to let me come to his lectures?" interrupted Blake, averting the strong language which was rising to Tom's lips. "I think they seem just the things I want. I shouldn't like to offer to pay him, unless you think-" "I'm quite sure," interrupted Tom, "that he won't take anything. I will ask him to-morrow whether he will let you come, and he is such a kind good fellow that I'm almost sure he will." "I should like to know your pal, too, Brown," said Drysdale; "you must introduce me, with Blake." "No, I'll be hanged if I do," said Tom. "Then I shall introduce myself," said Drysdale; "see if I don't sit next him, now, at your wine on Thursday." Here Drysdale's scout entered with two notes, and wished to know if Mr. Drysdale would require anything more. Nothing but hot water; he could put the kettle on, Drysdale said, and go; and while the scout was fulfilling his orders, he got up carelessly, whistling, and walking to the fire, read the notes by the light of one of the candles which were burning on the mantle-piece. Blake was watching him eagerly, and Tom saw this, and made some awkward efforts to go on talking about the advantages of Hardy's plan for learning history. But he was talking to deaf ears, and soon came to a stand still. He saw Drysdale crumple up the notes in his hand and shove them into his pocket. After standing for a few seconds in the same position, with his back to them, he turned around with a careless air, and sauntered to the table where they were sitting. "Let's see, what were we saying?" he began. "Oh, about your eccentric pal, Brown."