period of rest, set apart specially to enable me to keep abreast of the light fiction of the day. And most of the form, so far as I know, thought the same. It was only on the night before the examination that one began to revise in real earnest. One's methods on that night resolved themselves into sitting in a chair and wondering where to begin. Just as one came to a decision, it was bedtime.     

       'Bradshaw,' I said, as I reached page 103 without having read a line, 'do you know any likely bits?'     

       Bradshaw looked up from his book. He was attempting to get a general idea of Thucydides' style by reading Pickwick.     

       'What?' he said.     

       I obliged with a repetition of my remark.     

       'Likely bits? Oh, you mean for the Thucydides. I don't know. Mellish never sets the bits any decent ordinary individual would set. I should take my chance if I were you.'     

       'What are you going to do?'     

       'I'm going to read Pickwick. Thicksides doesn't come within a mile of it.'     

       I thought so too.     

       'But how about tomorrow?'     

       'Oh, I shan't be there,' he said, as if it were the most ordinary of statements.     

       'Not there! Why, have you been sacked?'     

       This really seemed the only possible explanation. Such an event would not have come as a surprise. It was always a matter for wonder to me why the authorities never sacked Bradshaw, or at the least requested him to leave. Possibly it was another case of the ass and the bundles of hay. They could not make up their minds which special misdemeanour of his to attack first.     

       'No, I've not been sacked,' said Bradshaw.     

       A light dawned upon me.     

       'Oh,' I said, 'you're going to slumber in.' 

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