clever
fellow. But that will by no means satisfy him. He will never admit
himself beaten. There is always some trivial accident, some unforeseen
coincidence, without which his success would have been certain and
recognised; but which, as it happens, slightly interfere with his
triumph.

It is the same in games as in the class-room. If he is beaten in a
race, it is because he has slipped in starting; if he is clean bowled
first ball at cricket, it is because there was a lump in the grass just
where the ball pitched; if he lets the enemy's halfback pass him at
football, it is because he made sure Perkins had collared him--
otherwise, of course, he would have won the race, made top score at the
wickets, and saved his goal. As it happens, he does neither.

There is a touch of dishonesty in this, though perhaps Tim does not
intend it. Why cannot he own he is "out of it" now and then? His
fellows would respect him far more and laugh at him far less; he would
gain far more than he lost, besides having the satisfaction of knowing
he had not tried to deceive anybody. But I sometimes think, when Tim
makes his absurd excuses, he really believes what he says; just as the
ostrich, when he buries his head in the sand, really believes he is
hidden from the sight of his pursuers.

It is natural in human nature not to relish the constant admission of
error or failure. Who of us is not glad to feel at times (even if we do
not say it) that "it's not our fault"? The person who is always making
little of himself, and never admitting what small merit he might fairly
claim, is pretty much the same sort of deception as Tim, and we despise
him almost as much. We would all of us, in fact (and what wonder?) like
to be "always right," and perhaps our tendency is to let the wish become
father to the thought rather too often.

But to return to Timothy. Nothing, of course, could astonish him;
nothing was ever news to him; nothing could evoke his applause. "Tim,"
perhaps some one would say, "do you know old Grinder (the head master)
is going to be married, and we are to get a week extra holiday?"

"Ah," says Tim, to whom this is all news, "I always thought there was
something of the kind up. For my own part, I thought we should get a
fortnight extra."

"Buck made a good jump yesterday, Tim," says another. "Five feet and
half an inch."

"Sure it wasn't three-quarters of an inch?" is Tim's provoking answer.

Of all irritating t