Follow My Leader | Page 4

a
legend on its nail, "whatever is this the date for--1476? I put it down,
and-- Oh! I say, can't you remember?"
But Richardson, though he scorned to show it, was too agitated even to
suggest an event to fit the disconsolate date, and poor Coote had to
totter up the stairs, hopelessly convinced that he had nothing at his
fingers' ends after all.
They found themselves walking up a long, high-ceilinged room, with
desks all round and a few very appalling oil portraits ranged along the
walls, to a table where sat a small, handsome gentleman in cap and
gown.
He took Mr Ashford's letter, and the boys knew they stood in the
presence of Dr Winter.
"Richardson, Heathcote, Coote," said the Doctor. "Answer to your
names--which is Richardson?"
"I am, please, sir."
"Heathcote?"
"I am, sir, please."
"Coote?"
"I am, if you please, sir."
"Richardson, go to desk 6; Heathcote, desk 13; Coote, desk 25."
Coote groaned inwardly. It was all up with him now, and he might just
as well throw up the sponge before he began. With a friend within call
he might yet have struggled through. But what hope was there when the
nearer of them was twelve desks away?

For two hours a solemn silence reigned in that examination hall, broken
only by the scratching of pens and the secret sighs of one and another
of the victims. The pictures on the walls, as they looked down, caught
the eye of many a wistful upturned face, and marked the devouring of
many a penholder, and the tearing of many a hair.
In vain Coote searched his nails from thumb to little finger. No
question fitted to his painfully collected answers. Edward the Fifth was
ignored, the sex of "Amnis" was not even hinted at, and "1476" never
once came to his rescue. And yet, he reminded himself over and over
again, he and Heathcote had said their Latin syntax to Mr Ashford only
the day before without a mistake.
"Cease writing," said the Doctor, as the clock struck two, "and the boys
at desks 1 to 10 come up here."
This was the signal for the cruellest of all that day's horrors. If the
written examination had slain its thousands, the viva voce slew its tens
of thousands. Even Richardson stumbled; and Heathcote, when his turn
came, gave himself up for lost. The Doctor's impassive face betrayed
no emotion, and gave no token, either for joy, or hope, or despair. He
merely said "That will do" after each victim had performed; and even
when Coote, after a mighty effort, rendered "O tempora! O mores!" as
"Oh, the tempers of the Moors," he quietly said, "Thank you; now the
next boy."
At last it was all over, and they found themselves standing once more
in the great quadrangle, not very sure what had happened to them, but
feeling as if they had just undergone a surgical operation not unlike that
of flaying alive.
However, once outside the terrible portal of Templeton, their hearts
gradually thawed within them. The confectioner's shop, now crowded
with "gods," held them in awe for a season, and as long as the road was
specked with mortar-boards they held their peace, and meditated on
their shirt-studs. But when Templeton lay behind them, and they
stepped once more on to the breezy heath, they shook off the nightmare
that weighed on their spirits and were themselves again.

"Precious glad it's over," said Richardson. "Beast, that arithmetic paper
was."
"I liked it better than the English," said Coote. "I say, is 'for' a
preposition or an adverb? I couldn't remember."
"Oh, look here! shut up riddles now," said Richardson, "we've had
enough of them. Let's talk about our three and not your 'for,' you Coote
you."
Whereupon Richardson started to run, a proceeding which at once
convinced his companions that his last observation had been intended
as a joke. As in duty bound they gave chase, but the fleet-footed Dick
was too many for them; and when at last they came up with him he was
strongly intrenched on the box-seat of the empty waggonette at
Markridge, with Tom's whip in his hand, beyond all attack.
"I say," said he, after his pursuers had taken breath and granted an
amnesty, "it would be great fun to drive home by ourselves. Tom's not
here. I asked them. He's gone to see his aunt, or somebody, and left
word he'd be back at three o'clock. Like his cheek. I vote we don't wait
for him."
"All serene," said the others, "but we shall want the horse, shan't we?"
"Perhaps we shall," said Dick, with a grin, "unless you'd like to pull the
trap. The horse is in the stable, and we can tip the fellow to put