Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment's silence went on: "You say, Tom, you want to please the Doctor. Now, do you want to please him by what he thinks you do, or by what you really do?"
"By what I really do, of course."
"Does he think you use cribs and Vulgus-books?"
Tom felt at once that his flank was turned,[13] but he couldn't give in. "He was at Winchester himself," said he; "he knows all about it."
"Yes, but does he think you use them? Do you think he approves of it?"
"You young villain!" said Tom, shaking his fist at Arthur, half vexed and half pleased. "I never think about it. Hang it—there, perhaps he doesn't. Well, I suppose he doesn't."
TOM'S CONFESSIONS.
Arthur saw that he had got his point; he knew his friend well, and was wise in silence as in speech. He only said, "I would sooner have the Doctor's good opinion of me as I really am than any man's in the world."
After another minute, Tom began again; "Look here, young un, how on earth am I to get time to play the matches this half, if I give up cribs? We're in the middle of that long crabbed chorus in the Agamemnon;[14] I can only just make head or tail of it with the crib. Then there's Pericles' speech coming on in Thucydides, and 'The Birds' to get up for the examination, besides the Tacitus." Tom groaned at the thought of his accumulated labors. "I say, young un, there's only five weeks or so left to the holidays; mayn't I go on as usual for this half? I'll tell the Doctor about it some day, or you may."