"Did you say school?
Is Low Heath a school ?" "Rather.

What did you think it was ?" "We thought it was an idiot asylum," said Mr Evans.

And a shout of laughter at my expense confirmed his statement.
I did not deign to explain; and for the few days I remained at the office I made no further reference to my academic triumphs, though my comrades rarely failed to make merry over the asylum.
At the end of a fortnight I began to come to myself, and realise that I had not exactly borne my honours blushingly.

And I was glad when my mother proposed a week or two at the seaside, to brace up before plunging into the ocean of public school fife.
My guardian, who had of late grown fairly civil to me, in the prospect of getting me off his hands, was good enough to release me from the office; and I shook the dust of that detestable place off my feet with unfeigned thankfulness.
Mr Evans wanted to get up a farewell supper for me, and I was very near allowing myself the honour, when I accidentally discovered that all the provisions were to be ordered in my name and the bill sent to me.
Whereupon I declined the invitation with thanks, and regretted that a previous engagement would prevent my having the pleasure of joining their party.
Once in the quiet of the seaside, with my mother for companion, I recovered my proper frame of mind, and began to take sober views of the prospect before me.
I wrote to Tempest--rather a cocky letter, perhaps, but one full of delight at the prospect of joining him at Low Heath, and claiming his patronage and support.
His reply was characteristic to say the least.
"The examiners for exhibitions here are the biggest muffs out.

They plough the only men worth having and let in no end of scugs.