"Don't cry, Dicky!" observed Temple. "The inspector didn't know you as well as we do, or there would have been no need to ask such a question"—an oracular speech with rather a doubtful meaning.
Jim did not join in the chaff—in fact, he scarcely heard it. His whole mind was absorbed in the forthcoming examination, and he waited impatiently for the door to be opened. When Temple and several of the others spoke to him he answered briefly, and then relapsed into silence.
"What's the matter with him, Dicky?" whispered the popular captain of the Magpies, as they entered the building.
"Too much work. He's been overdoing it, and I shouldn't wonder if he breaks down. He's slaved like a nigger since the news of his father's loss came."
"Poor old chap!" said Temple. "It was hard lines, and no mistake."
The boys passed along a broad corridor, mounted a staircase, and entered a large room. Above the door was a card bearing the words, "Candidates for the Gayton Scholarship."
"Move quietly, please," said a spectacled gentleman standing at a desk. "Each boy will find his name on the desk at which he is to sit."
They were arranged in alphabetic order, and Dick found himself just behind Braithwaite. Jim was in the middle of the room, and Temple at the end. In a short time they were all seated, and the examiner read the rules and regulations. Then his colleague went round with the questions to be answered during the morning, and presently the only sound to be heard was the scratching of busy pens.
After a rapid glance at the paper, Dick settled to work with a pleasant smile; the questions were just to his liking, and he felt sure of doing well in the morning at least. Braithwaite, too, seemed satisfied, while Temple used his pen as if he were master of the situation.
The one boy in the room who appeared ill at ease was Jim Hartland. His face was hot and flushed; there were drumming noises in his ears; letters and figures, all jumbled together, danced wildly before his eyes. At the end of the first half-hour his paper was still blank. Long afterwards, in talking about the examination, he told me that, but for the examiner, he does not think he should have written a single word.