Now was the time. With a sigh as deep as the pocket from which he pulled it, Stephen produced that miserable paper.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” he began, “I’ve not had time—”
“Tut, tut!” said the Doctor; “put that away, and let us get on.”
Stephen stared. “It’s the paper you gave me!” he said.
The Doctor frowned. “I hope you are not a silly boy,” he said, rather crossly.
“I’m afraid they are all wrong,” said Stephen; “the questions were—were—rather hard.”
“What questions?” exclaimed the Doctor, a trifle impatient, and a trifle puzzled.
“These you sent me,” said Stephen, humbly handing in the paper.
“Hum! some mistake; let’s see, perhaps Jellicott—ah!” and he put on his glasses and unfolded the paper.
“Question 1. Grammar!” and then a cloud of amazement fell over the Doctor’s face. He looked sharply out from under his spectacles at Stephen, who stood anxiously and nervously before him. Then he glanced again at the paper, and his mouth twitched now and then as he read the string of questions, and the boy’s desperate attempts to answer them.