“Been up where?”
“Up for an exam.—an examination,” said I, surprised at their density.
“Where, at the girls’ school?”
“Girls’ school, no; at Low Heath.” Mr Evans looked grave, and beckoned his comrades a little nearer.
“Awfully sad, isn’t it?” said he, with a seriousness which surprised me.
“Yes. It’s a good institution, though. My uncle tried to get a case in there once, but failed.” I wasn’t surprised to hear that.
“They only let the very dotty ones in,” said Mr Evans. “Besides, it’ll be a part payment case—at least, I should think the governor will plank down something.”
“It’s worth £40 a year for four years,” said I, understanding very imperfectly the drift of these remarks, but pleased at least to find I had succeeded in impressing my fellow-clerks.
“Ah, so much?—they can’t treat cases like yours for nothing. When are you going in?”
“In September. It’s a splendid place—five hundred fellows there.”