“Mr Shepard,” said the civilian, “will you tell us what the 20th proposition of the first book of Euclid treats of?”
As this question was slowly and deliberately put I felt a strange feeling of nervousness come over me. It suddenly occurred to me, “Suppose I broke down here?” I knew if I did I should be spun to a certainty, and the idea for a moment quite unnerved me. There was a dead silence for about a minute, then, in half-broken sentences, I replied, “To prove two sides greater than the third.”
“Very well,” continued the same gentleman; “will you now draw a figure on that board, and prove the problem, and be kind enough not to prove the same two sides to be greater than the third side that are proved in Euclid?”
I took a piece of chalk, and, though my hand trembled, I drew the first line, and then thought which two sides I should prove to be those greater than the third. As I thought over this, my nervousness seemed to leave me, and I saw nothing but the board and the problem. It would have been no matter to me whether four people or four hundred had been present, for I forgot my audience. I experienced no difficulty in demonstrating the problem, thanks to Mr Rouse’s training; and having then demonstrated two other problems—one in the third, one in the second book—I was told that that would do.
“May I ask who taught you your Euclid?” inquired the examiner.
“Mr Rouse, sir.”
I could not distinctly hear what was said by the examiner to the officers, but the words “that accounts” and “utterly opposed to cramming” were audible.
A brief examination in drawing, in Latin, French, and German, and a paper in history and geography, completed the examination; and I returned with Mr Rouse to London, and on the following day started by coach for home.