After eighteen every one knew that the removes were exhausted, and that the list which followed was, if not a list of reproach, at any rate one neither of honour nor profit.
"31--Richardson," read the Doctor, making a pause on the announcement which cut the penitent Dick to the quick; "32--Fox; 33--Sumpter; 34-- Whiles; 35--Heathcote; 36--Hooker, junior.

That is all." Poor Heathcote! He had buoyed himself up to the last.

He had reminded himself that he was not a prig or a saint, that he didn't go in for conduct that "paid," that he called a spade a spade, and that he didn't profess to be what he wasn't; and yet all this failed to place him higher than last but one of thirty-six boys, among whom, only four months ago, he stood fifteenth! Even Dick had beaten him now, although Dick himself had fallen ten places down the list.
The two friends had a dreary walk round the deserted Fields that afternoon.
"I can't make it out," said Heathcote.

"I knew I hadn't done well, but I expected to be higher than that.

I wonder if Winter's got a spite against me." "More likely got one against me.