The examination next morning was a written one, and the last question on the board was, "Show, by means of a genealogical tree, the connection between the Tudors and the Stuarts."
"Please, sir," said Garston, "you told us we needn't do that."
"I said you were to get it up if you had time," returned the master. "Haven't any of you done it?"
"Yes, sir," came from the front desk.
"Very well; let those who have learned it write it down."
"Val, my boy," said Jack, in his happy-go-lucky style, as they met in the dormitory to change for football, "you just keep your eyes open; you're going to get licked."
Valentine replied with a snort of defiance, and the subject was dropped. Tea was over, and in the short respite between the end of the meal and the commencement of "prep.," Jack was strolling down one of the passages, when his attention was attracted by a certain small boy who stood beneath a gas-jet scanning the contents of a small book, and occasionally scribbling something on a half-sheet of exercise-book paper. Suddenly the youngster flung down the book in a rage, and kicked it across the passage, whereupon Jack promptly cried, "No goal!"
"Hallo, little Garston!" he continued, "what's up with you?"
"Why, I've got to write out the translation of some of this Caesar for old Thorpe, and I can't make head or tail of the blessed stuff. I say, Fenleigh, you might do a bit for me!"
Jack was a good-natured young vagabond. "Where is it?" he said, picking up the book. "All right! here goes."