“Work and toil as hard as you may,” continued he, with all the fervor of one on a favorite theme, “if you haven't luck you 'll be beaten. Can you deny that, Polly?”
“If you allow me to call merit what you call luck, I'll agree with you. But I 'd much rather go on with our work. What is the insertion of the deltoid? I'm sure you know that!”
“The deltoid! the deltoid!” muttered he. “I forget all about the deltoid, but, of course, it's like the rest of them. It's inserted into a ridge or a process, or whatever you call it—”
“Oh, Tom, this is very hopeless. How can you presume to face your examiners with such ignorance as this?”
“I'll tell you what I'll do, Polly; Grove told me he did it,—if I find my pluck failing me, I 'll have a go of brandy before I go in.”
She found it very hard not to laugh at the solemn gravity of this speech, and just as hard not to cry as she looked at him who spoke it At the same moment Dr. Dill opened the door, calling out sharply, “Where's that fellow, Tom? Who has seen him this morning?”
“He's here, papa,” said Polly. “We are brushing up the anatomy for the last time.”
“His head must be in capital order for it, after his night's exploit. I heard of you, sir, and your reputable wager. Noonan was up here this morning with the whole story!”
“I 'd have won if they 'd not put snuff in the punch—”
“You are a shameless hound—”