"Perhaps it's the weather." "Perhaps it is," said Mr Deane drily.

"Now, pray get on with those problems." "Yes, of course," cried Vince; and he began to work away most industriously, till, as the tutor was resting his head upon his hand and looking down at the paper upon which he was himself working out the problem he had set the boys, so as to be able to show them, step by step, how it was best done, Mike scribbled something on a scrap, shut it in a book, and passed it to Vince, after glancing across the table and then giving him a nudge.
Vince glanced across too; but Mr Deane was apparently intent upon the problem, his delicate right-hand guiding the new quill pen, and forming a long series of beautifully formed characters which were always looked upon by the boys with envy and surprise.
Vince opened the book at the scrap of paper and read: "I say: let's tell old Deane, and make him go with us." Vince turned the paper over and wrote: "What for?
He'd spoil it all.

Want to knock all the fun out of our discovery ?" The scrap was shut up in the book and pushed back to the sender; the work continued, and then came another nudge and the book once more, with a fresh scrap of paper stuck in.
"I say, I can't get on a bit for thinking about the Black Scraw." Vince wrote on the back: "More can I.

Get on with your work, and don't bother." This was forwarded by library table post, and then there was nothing heard but the scratching of the tutor's pen.

But Mike's restlessness increased: he fidgeted and shuffled about in his chair, shook the table, and tried all kinds of positions to help him in solving his algebraic problem, but without avail.