“Well,” said Jim, putting down his foot, “this must be stopped. You may work till ten every night, but then you must go to bed, or you and I will fall out.”
Jim looked so grave as he said this that George was bound to take it in the earnest way in which it was meant. A long argument ensued. George pleaded, Jim bullied, and at last my master was obliged to promise to give over work at twelve every night for the next fortnight. But more he would not promise. No persuasions could tempt him out of doors for more than a hurried five minutes’ walk, or induce him to yield to the fascinations of the organ. As the days went on, too, he grew more and more despondent about his own chances, and implored more than once to be released from his promise. But Jim was inflexible, and held him grimly to his engagement.
“You’re certain to be among the first three,” he said, over and over again, “and if you’ll only give yourself two days’ rest you may be first.”
“Yes, of the third class,” mournfully replied my master. “I tell you what, Jim, it isn’t fair to bind me down to a promise I made almost under compulsion, and for fear of making you angry.”
“It’s quite fair, and you would make me angry if you didn’t stick to it. Why, my dear fellow, has it ever occurred to you I’m in for the same Tripos as you, and I’m not behaving as ridiculously as you?”
“You are safe to be in the second class,” said George.
“I wish I were as safe of a second as you are of a first; but I wouldn’t kill myself to be senior classic.”
“You forget how important it is for me to take a good place.”
“It is far more important to retain your health.”
“Think what a difference it would make at home if I got a fellowship.”