ow, returned to
his seat.

When the prefect of studies reached the class to which I belonged he
called out: "Grammar, first prize. Aggregate for the year, Joseph M.
Gordon." Upon which I rose from my seat, and for a moment the applause of
the audience, which was freely given to all prize winners, followed. I
was on the point of moving off towards the table in question, when, as
the applause ceased, the voice of the prefect of studies once more made
itself clearly heard. It was only one word he said, but that word was
"Forfeited." No more. I sat down again. Then he continued: "First prize
in Latin, J. M. G." I must admit I didn't know what to do, but I stood up
all right again. The audience didn't quite appear to understand what was
going on, but the prefect of studies gave them no time to commence any
further applause, for that one word, "Forfeited," came quickly out of his
mouth. Down again I sat. However, I immediately made up my mind, though,
of course, not knowing how many prizes I had won, to stand up every time
and sit down as soon as that old word "Forfeited" came along, which
actually happened about four times.

I often wonder now how I really did look on that celebrated occasion. But
I remember making up my mind there and then that I would remain in that
school for one year more, but no more, even if I was forced to leave the
country, and to win every prize I could that next year, and make sure, as
the Irishman says, that they would not be "forfeited." So I remained
another year. I was fortunate enough to win the prizes--I even won the
silver medal, special prize for religion--and it was a proud day for me
when I got them safely into my bag, which I did as soon as possible after
the ceremony, in case someone else should come along and attempt to
"_forfeit_" them. I had taken care to order a special cab of my own and
to have my portmanteau close to the front door, so that I could get away
at the very earliest opportunity to Windsor Station.

But I had not forgotten that I had made up my mind to leave the school
then, so on my arrival at home I duly informed my venerable father that I
had made up my mind to be a soldier, and that as I was then over 17, and
as candidates for the Woolwich Academy were not admitted after reaching
their eighteenth birthday, it was necessary that I should leave school at
once and go to a crammer. My father made no objection at all, but he
said, "As your time is so short to prepare,