no doubt in his own mind as to the result. He hardly understood
his friend's reference to Maltby. Why shouldn't he go there and take
his fag too if he chose? He didn't see what right the Fifth had to fags
at all. He had a fag, but then he was in the Sixth. His fag admired
him, and he never told him not to. The Sixth _could not_ be degenerate
so long as _he_ was in it."

"Other speakers followed, including Mr W-r-n, who maintained that
Michael Angelo was a greater musician than Queen Anne. He was here
called to order, and reminded that Michael Angelo had nothing to do with
the degeneracy of the Sixth. He begged leave to explain--

"At this point our reporter fell asleep."

The laughter which greeted the reading of this extract was by no means
shared by the Sixth Form boys present, who, had the next selection been
in a similar strain, would have quitted the scene and taken their chance
of satisfying their curiosity as to the rest of the contents of the
paper at a more convenient season.

But the next lucubration was the unfortunate Stephen's examination
paper, with the answers thereto embellished, and in many cases bodily
supplied, by the fertile Anthony. The luckless Stephen, who was wedged
up in the front row of readers, could have sunk into the earth on
meeting once more that hateful paper face to face, and feeling himself
an object of ridicule to the whole school. For the wonderful answers
which now appeared were hardly any of them his own composition, and he
did not even get credit for the few correct things he had said. Shouts
of laughter greeted the reading, during which he dared not lift his eyes
from the ground. But the answer to Question 6, "What is a minus?" was
more than human flesh and blood could endure.

"What is a Minus?"

"`Minus' is derived from two English words, `my,' meaning my, and `nus,'
which is the London way of pronouncing `nurse.' My nurse is a dear
creature; I love her still, especially now she doesn't wash my face. I
hated having my face washed. My nurse's name is Mrs Blake, but I
always call her my own Noodle-oodle-oo. I do love her so! How I would
like to hug her! She sewed the strings of my little flannel vest on in
front just before I came here because she knew I couldn't tie them
behind by myself--"

"She didn't!" shouted Stephen, in a voice trembling with indignation.

Poor boy! The laughter which greeted this simple exclamation was enough
to finish up any on