He must finish his work now, so as to be free for the evening's "entertainment," and for the other equally grave duties which lay before him.
But somehow he could not work; his mind was too full to be able to settle steadily on any one thing, and finally he pushed away the books and gave up the attempt.
It was at that moment that the small black book he had found caught his eye.
He took it up, intending, if possible, to ascertain whose property it was, and, failing that, to send Cusack to "cry" it round the school.
But the first thing that met his eye on the front page roused his curiosity.

It was evidently a quotation: "Pass me not, oh! reader, by, Read my pages tenderly (`tenderly' altered to `on the sly'); All that's writ is writ for thee, Open now and you shall see." After such a cordial invitation, even Riddell could hardly feel much qualm about dipping farther into this mysterious manuscript.
It appeared to be a diary, which, but for the announcement at the beginning, one would have been inclined to regard as a private document.
And the first entry Riddell encountered was certainly of that character: "Friday, the fifth day of the week .-- My birthday.

Rose at 6:591/2.

I am old.

I am 24 (and ten off) some one had taken my soap.