out?"

Ricketts, by the way, had not done a stroke of work that he could
possibly help all the term!

All the other Fifth Form fellows they encountered echoed more or less
anxiously the same advice. But the two friends were obdurate. Threats,
promises, entreaties, would not put them off their row up the river, and
they went on their way, leaving behind them an unusual gloom on the
spirits of their dearest friends.

The only person who seemed really glad to see them leaving their work
was Bramble. He, with his friend Padger, and a few other
irreconcilables, were just returning from a rat-catching expedition, and
the sight of the Fifth Form heroes in boating costume filled them with
joy.

"Hullo--my eye--hurrah!" shouted Bramble, taking in the situation in a
moment. "There they go! I hope they get drowned; don't you, Padger?"

Padger was understood to assent to this benevolent aspiration.

"Go it. _You'll_ get the Nightingale! I thought you would! Hope you
get drowned, do you hear! Hurrah for the Sixth!"

At this juncture Master Paul gave chase, and for a few moments Bramble
and his friends were too much engaged to speak; but at last, when the
chase was over, and further reprisals were out of the question, the hero
of the Tadpoles summoned up all his remaining powers to yell:

"Yah boo, Nightingale! Hope you get drowned! Yah!" after which he went
his way.

The two friends paddled quietly up the river. They talked very little,
but both felt relieved to be away from their books. As they went on
their spirits rose, greatly to Paul's displeasure. That young
gentleman, immoderately jealous for the glory of the Fifth, was content
as long as the two rowers remained grave and serious; he could then make
himself believe they were engaged in mental exercises favourable to
Monday's examination. But as soon as they began to whistle, and chaff
him and one another, and talk of their holiday adventures, Paul became
displeased, for they could not possibly do this and be inwardly
preparing for the examination at the same time.

However, he had to submit as best he could, and gave all his attention
to steering them carefully, so that it should be no fault of his, at any
rate, if they were prevented from showing up on the critical day.

"This old Shar isn't half such a jolly river as the Thames, is it,
Wray?"

"Rather not!" replied Wraysford, resting on his oar; "and yet it's
pretty enough in parts."

"Oh, up