e floor of the
passage, while they sauntered off arm-in-arm to the scene of the new
excitement.

The object which had attracted the knot of boys whom they now joined was
the School Notice Board, on which, from time to time, were posted
notices of general and particular interest to the school. On this
particular afternoon (the first Friday of the Summer term) it was, as
usual, crowded with announcements, each interesting in its way.

The first was in the handwriting of Dr Senior's secretary, and ran as
follows:--

"A Nightingale Scholarship, value 50 pounds a year for three years, will
fall vacant at Michaelmas. Boys under seventeen are eligible.
Particulars and subject of examination can be had any evening next week
in the secretary's room."

"Fifty-pounds a year _for_ three years!" exclaimed a small boy, with a
half whistle. "I wouldn't mind getting that!"

"Well, why don't you, you avaricious young Jew? You're under seventeen,
I suppose?" retorted the amiable Mr Bullinger, thereby raising a laugh
at the expense of this little boy of eleven, who retired from the scene
extinguished.

The next notice was in the classical handwriting of the secretary of the
Sixth Form Literary Society, and ran as follows:--

"This Society will meet on Tuesday. Subject for debate, `That the
present age is degenerate,' moved by A.E. Callander, opposed by T.
Winter. Boys from the Senior Fifth are invited as auditors."

This notice, even with the patronising postscript, would have passed
without comment, as Sixth Form notices usually did, had not some
audacious hand ventured to alter a word and make the subject of debate,
instead of "That the present age is degenerate," read "That the present
Sixth is degenerate." Who the perpetrator of this outrage might be was
a mystery, but the alteration was quite enough to render the notice very
amusing to many of the readers, especially the Fifth Form boys, and very
terrible to others, especially the small boys, who looked nervous and
guilty, and did not dare by the slightest sign to join in the mirth of
their irreverent seniors. Most of the assembly agreed that "there would
be a row about it," with which assurance they passed on to the next
notice.

"Wanted, a Smart Fag. No Tadpoles or Guinea-pigs need apply. Horace
Wraysford, Fifth Form."

"Bravo, Horatius!" said Ricketts. "A lucky young cub it will be that he
takes on," added he, turning to a group of the small boys near. "He