At last he appeared, paper in hand, and glasses on nose. I could see Dicky just in front of me catch a quick breath, and Tempest up in the front brush his hair back with his fingers; and there arose before my mind in horrible review all the palpable blunders of my own examination papers.
“Lower school,” began the doctor in a hard, dry, unemotional voice. “Aggregate form order—out of a possible 1000 marks, Brown iii., day boy, and Jones iv., Mr Sharpe’s, bracketed first with 853 marks.”
What! me? bracketed top with Dicky? Go along with you! But a huge thump on the back from Warminster, followed by a huger from Langrish; the vision of Dicky’s consciously blushing cheeks, as Flitwick performed the same office for him; and, above all, a nod across the room from Redwood, and a grin from Tempest, convinced me that there was something in it after all. Of course it was a mistake, and when the marks came to be counted again it would be put right. But while it lasted it wasn’t bad. What was the doctor saying?
“A very good performance, both of you; and the result of honest hard work.”
It was true then? There was no humbug about it? Oh, I must write to my mother this very afternoon.
“Warminster, Mr Sharpe’s second, 836, good also; Corderoy, Mr Selkirk’s, third, 815; Langrish, Mr Sharpe’s, fourth, 807; Trimble, Mr Sharpe’s, sixth, 796; Purkis, Mr Sharpe’s, seventh, 771; Coxhead, Mr Sharpe’s, eighth, 734—(Mr Sharpe’s boys have worked excellently this term);—Quin, day boy, ninth, 699; Rackstraw, Mr Sharpe’s, tenth, 678.”
And so the list went on. I was too much lost in the wonder of my own success to appreciate all at once the glorious significance of the whole result. But as the Philosophers crowded in a little closer on one another, and the friendly nudge went round, it began to dawn on me. Every one of our men had given a good account of himself, even Coxhead and the “pauper” Rackstraw! Not one of the old gang but was eligible for the club; not one but had done something to “put the day boys and Selkirk’s and everybody else to bed,” as Langrish said.
“Just like your side,” said the latter to me, “trying to make out you’d made a mess of it. You can only make a mess of it, young Sarah, when you try not to; when you do try you can’t do it.” And with another thump on the back our excellent secretary gave me to know he bore me no malice, but on the contrary was pleased to favour me with his general approbation.
But more was yet to come. Compared with the “aggregates,” the details of how we had passed each examination were more or less tame, and we were impatient to get on to the senior results.
The middle school had to come first. As a rule we were not greatly concerned in them, except as belonging to the division into which some of us would probably be promoted next term. But such as they were, they kept up the credit of Sharpe’s. A Selkirker did indeed head the list, but after him a string of four of our fellows followed; after them a day boy, and then two more “Sharpers.”