“I’ll bet you a bottle of blacking, Gig-lamps,” said Mr. Bouncer, “that we have here an intending freshman.  Let us take a rise out of him.”

“Can you direct me to Brazenface College, please, sir?” said the youthful stranger, flushing like a girl.

“This is Brazenface College,” said Mr. Bouncer, looking very important.  “And, pray, what is your business here and your name?”

“If you please,” said the stranger, “I am James Pucker.  I came to enter, sir, for my matriculation examination, and I wish to see the gentleman who will examine me.”

“Then you’ve come to the proper quarter, young man,” said Mr. Bouncer.  “Here is Mr. Pluckem,” turning to Mr. Verdant Green, “the junior examiner.”

Mr. Verdant Green took his cue with astonishing aptitude and glared through his glasses at the trembling, blushing Mr. Pucker.

“And here,” continued Mr. Bouncer, pointing to Mr. Fosbrooke, who was coming up the street, “is the gentleman who will assist Mr. Pluckem in examining you.”

“It will be extremely inconvenient to me to examine you now,” said Mr. Fosbrooke; “but, as you probably wish to return home as soon as possible, I will endeavour to conclude the business at once.  Mr. Bouncer, will you have the goodness to bring this young gentleman to my rooms?”

Leaving Mr. Pucker to express his thanks for this great kindness to Mr. Bouncer, who whiled away the time by telling him terrible stories about the matriculation ordeal, Mr. Verdant Green and Fosbrooke ran upstairs, and spread a newspaper over a heap of pipes and pewter pots and bottles of ale, and prepared a table with pen, ink, and scribble-paper.  Soon afterwards, Mr. Bouncer led in the unsuspecting victim.

“Take a seat, sir,” said Mr. Fosbrooke, gravely.  And Mr. Pucker put his hat on the ground, and sat down at the table in a state of blushing nervousness.  “Have you been at a public school?”

“Yes, sir,” stammered the victim; “a very public one, sir.  It was a boarding school, sir.  I was a day boy, sir, and in the first class.”

“First class of an uncommon slow train!” muttered Mr. Bouncer.

“Now, sir,” continued Mr. Fosbrooke, “let us see what your Latin writing is like.  Have the goodness to turn what I have written into Latin; and be very careful,” added Mr. Fosbrooke sternly, “be very careful that it is good Latin!” And he handed Mr. Pucker a sheet of paper, on which he had scribbled the following: 

“To be turned into Latin after the Manner of the Animals of Tacitus:  She went into the garden to cut a cabbage to make an apple-pie.  Just then a great she-bear, coming down the street, poked its nose into the shop window.  ‘What!  No soap?  Bosh!’ So he died, and she (very imprudently) married the barber.  And there were present at the wedding the Joblillies, and the Piccannies, and the Gobelites, and the great Panjandrum himself, with the little button on top.  So they all set to playing catch-who-catch-can, till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.”