Talbot Baines Reed

“ Stephen had been up an hour, making fearful and wonderful shots of answers to his awful questions, half of which he had already ticked off as done for better or worse. “If I write something down to each,” thought he to himself, “I might happen to get one thing right; it’ll be better than putting down no answer at all.”
“Half-past nine!” said he to Paul, on hearing this announcement; “ten was the time I was told.”
“Who told you?”
“The gentleman who gave me my paper.”
“What paper? you don’t have papers. It’s vivâ voce.” ”

“ By the time these labours were over, and Stephen had secured a mouthful of breakfast in his brother’s study, it was time to go down to prayers; and after prayers he had but just time to wonder what excuse he should make for only answering half his questions, when the clock pointed to the half-hour, and he had to scuttle off as hard as he could to the Doctor’s study.
Dr. Senior was a tall, bald man, with small, sharp eyes, and with a face as solemn as an owl’s. He looked up as Stephen entered.
“Come in, my man. Let me see; Greenfield? Oh, yes. You got here on Tuesday. How old are you?” ”

“ One day I’ll into trouble get you all,
And down the playground steps upset you all,
And with a garden hose I’ll wet you all,
And then—’”
“Oh, look here,” said Oliver, “that’ll do. You may as well finish the thing right out at that rate.” ”