During the last week, an untoward circumstance happened, which, while it increased his popularity, diminished a good deal (as he thought) his chance of success.  The fourth form were learning a Homer lesson, and Barker, totally unable to do it by his own resources, was trying to borrow a crib.  Eric, much to their mutual disgust, still sat next to him in school, and would have helped him if he had chosen to ask; but he never did choose, nor did Eric care to volunteer.  The consequence was, that unless he could borrow a crib, he was invariably turned, and he was now particularly anxious to get one, because the time was nearly up.

There was a certain idle, good-natured boy, named Llewellyn, who had “cribs” to every book they did, and who, with a pernicious bonhommie, lent them promiscuously to the rest, all of whom were only too glad to avail themselves of the help, except the few at the top of the form, who found it a slovenly way of learning the lesson, which was sure to get them into worse difficulties than an honest attempt to master the meaning for themselves.  Llewellyn sat at the farther end of the form in front, so Barker scribbled in the fly-leaf of his book, “Please send us your Homer crib,” and got the book passed on to Llewellyn, who immediately shoved his crib in Barker’s direction.  The only danger of the transaction being noticed, was when the book was being handed from one bench to another, and as Eric unluckily had an end seat, he had got into trouble more than once.

On this occasion, just as Graham, the last boy on the form in front, handed Eric the crib, Mr. Gordon happened to look up, and Eric, very naturally anxious to screen another from trouble, popped the book under his own Homer.

“Williams, what are you doing?”

“Nothing, Sir,” said Eric, looking up innocently.

“Bring me that book under your Homer.”

Eric blushed, hesitated—­but at last, amid a dead silence, took up the book.  Mr. Gordon looked at it for a moment, let it fall on the ground, and then, with an unnecessary affectation of disgust, took it up with the tongs, and dropped it into the fire.  There was a titter round the room.

“Silence,” thundered the master; “this is no matter for laughing.  So, sir, this is the way you get up to the top of the form?”

“I wasn’t using it, sir,” said Eric.

“Not using it!  Why, I saw you put it, open, under your Homer.”

“It isn’t mine, sir.”

“Then whose is it?” Mr. Gordon looked at the fly leaf, but of course no name was there; in those days it was dangerous to write one’s name in a translation.

Eric was silent.

“Under the circumstances, Williams, I must punish you,” said Mr. Gordon.  “Of course I am bound to believe you, but the circumstances are very suspicious.  You had no business with such a book at all.  Hold out your hand.”