We Philosophers huddled together for comfort, but not a joke travelled down the line.

We sat and drummed our fingers on the desk before us, and wondered why on earth the doctor, on a day like this, should take such an unearthly time to put on his cap and gown.
At last he appeared, paper in hand, and glasses on nose.

I could see Dicky just in front of me catch a quick breath, and Tempest up in the front brush his hair back with his fingers; and there arose before my mind in horrible review all the palpable blunders of my own examination papers.
"Lower school," began the doctor in a hard, dry, unemotional voice.
"Aggregate form order--out of a possible 1000 marks, Brown iii., day boy, and Jones iv., Mr Sharpe's, bracketed first with 853 marks." What! me?
bracketed top with Dicky?
Go along with you! But a huge thump on the back from Warminster, followed by a huger from Langrish; the vision of Dicky's consciously blushing cheeks, as Flitwick performed the same office for him; and, above all, a nod across the room from Redwood, and a grin from Tempest, convinced me that there was something in it after all.

Of course it was a mistake, and when the marks came to be counted again it would be put right.

But while it lasted it wasn't bad.