CHAPTER IX.
A NASTY CROPPER.
But there were pitfalls ahead. As he moved to the botany table agrey-bearded examiner waved his hand in the direction of the row ofmicroscopes as an intimation that the student was to look through themand pronounce upon what he saw. Tom seemed to compress his whole soulinto his one eye as he glared hopelessly through the tube at whatappeared to him to resemble nothing so much as a sheet of ice with themarks of skates upon it.
"Come along, come along!" the examiner growled impatiently. Courtesy isconspicuous by its absence in most of the Edinburgh examinations."You must pass on to the next one, unless you can offer an opinion."
This venerable teacher of botany, though naturally a kind-hearted man,was well known as one of the most malignant species of examiners, one ofthe school which considers such an ordeal in the light of a trial ofstrength between their pupils and themselves. In his eyes the candidatewas endeavouring to pass, and his duty was to endeavour to prevent him,a result which, in a large proportion of cases, he successfullyaccomplished.
"Hurry on, hurry on!" he reiterated fussily.
"It's a section of a leaf," said the student.
"It's nothing of the sort," the examiner shouted exultantly."You've made a bad mistake, sir; a very bad one, indeed. It's thespirilloe of a water plant. Move on to the next."
Tom, in much perturbation of mind, shuffled down the line and lookedthrough the next brazen tube. "This is a preparation of stomata," hesaid, recognizing it from a print in his book on botany.
The professor shook his head despondingly. "You are right," he said;"pass on to the next."
The third preparation was as puzzling to the student as the first hadbeen, and he was steeling himself to meet the inevitable when anunexpected circumstance turned the scale in his favour. It chanced thatthe other examiner, being somewhat less of a fossil than his_confreres_, and having still vitality enough to take an interest inthings which were foreign to his subject, had recognized the student asbeing the young hero who had damaged himself in upholding the honour ofhis country. Being an ardent patriot himself his heart warmed towardsTom, and perceiving the imminent peril in which he stood he interferedin his behalf, and by a few leading questions got him on safer ground,and managed to keep him there until the little bell tinkled once more.The younger examiner showed remarkable tact in feeling his way, andkeeping within the very limited area of the student's knowledge. Hesucceeded so well, however, that although his colleague shook his hoaryhead and intimated in other ways his poor opinion of the candidate'sacquirements, he was forced to put down another "S. B." upon the paperin front of him. The student drew a long breath when he saw it, andmarched across to the other table with a mixture of trepidation andconfidence, like a jockey riding at the last and highest hurdle in asteeple-chase.
Alas! it is the last hurdle which often floors the rider, and Thomas toowas doomed to find the final ordeal an insurmountable one. As hecrossed the room some evil chance made him think of the gossip outsideand of his allusion to the abstruse substance known as cacodyl.Once let a candidate's mind hit upon such an idea as this, and nothingwill ever get it out of his thoughts. Tom felt his head buzz round, andhe passed his hand over his forehead and through his curly yellow hairto steady himself. He felt a frenzied impulse as he sat down toinform the examiners that he knew very well what they were going to askhim, and that it was hopeless for him to attempt to answer it.
The leading professor was a ruddy-faced, benevolent old gentleman, withspectacles and a kindly manner. He made a few commonplace remarks tohis colleagues with the good-natured intention of giving theconfused-looking student before him time to compose himself.Then, turning blandly towards him, he said in the mildest of tones--
"Have you ever rowed in a pond?"
Tom acknowledged that he had.
"Perhaps, on those occasions," the examiner continued, "you may havechanced to touch the mud at the bottom with your oar."
Tom agreed that it was possible.
"In that case you may have observed that a large bubble, or a successionof them has risen from the bottom to the surface. Now, of what gas wasthat bubble composed?"
The unhappy student, with the one idea always fermenting on his brain,felt that the worst had come upon him. Without a moment's hesitation orthought he expressed his conviction that the compound was cacodyl.
Never did two men look more surprised, and never did two generally grave_savants_ laugh more heartily than did the two examiners when theyrealized what the candidate had answered. Their mirth speedily broughthim back to his senses. He saw with a feeling of despair that it wasmarsh gas which they had expected--one of the simplest and commonest ofchemical combinations. Alas! it was too late now. He knew full wellthat nothing could save him. With poor marks in botany and zoology,such an error in chemistry was irreparable. He did what was perhaps thebest thing under the circumstances. Rising from his chair he made arespectful bow to the examiners, and walked straight out of the room--tothe great astonishment of the janitor, who had never before witnessedsuch a breach of decorum. As the student closed the door behind him helooked back and saw that the other professors had left their respectivetables and were listening to an account of the incident from one of thechemists--and a roar of laughter the moment afterwards showed that theyappreciated the humour of it. His fellow-students gathered round Tomoutside in the hope of sharing in the joke, but he pushed them angrilyaside and strode through the midst of them and down the Universitysteps. He knew that the story would spread fast enough without hisassistance. His mind was busy too in shaping a certain resolution whichhe had often thought over during the last few months.
The two old people and Miss Kate Harston waited long and anxiously intheir sitting-room at the hotel for some news of the absentee. Thedoctor had, at first, attempted a lofty cynicism and general assumptionof indifference, which rapidly broke down as the time went by, until atlast he was wandering round the room, drumming upon the furniture withhis fingers and showing every other sign of acute impatience.The window was on the first floor, and Kate had been stationed there asa sentinel to watch the passing crowd and signal the first sign oftidings.
"Can't you see him yet?" the doctor asked for the twentieth time.
"No, dear, I don't," she answered, glancing up and down the street.
"He must be out now. He should have come straight to us. Come awayfrom the window, my dear. We must not let the young monkey see howanxious we are about him."
Kate sat down by the old man and stroked his broad brown hand with hertender white one. "Don't be uneasy, dear," she said; "it's sure to beall right."
"Yes, he is sure to pass," the doctor answered; "but--bless my soul,who's this?"
The individual who caused this exclamation was a very broad-faced androsy-cheeked little girl, coarsely clad, with a pile of books and aslate under her arm, who had suddenly entered the apartment.
"Please sir," said this apparition, with a bob, "I'm Sarah Jane."
"Are you, indeed?" said the doctor, with mild irony. "And what d'yewant here, Sarah Jane?"
"Please, sir, my mithar, Mrs. McTavish, asked me if I wudna' gie ye thisletter frae the gentleman what's lodgin' wi' her." With these words thelittle mite delivered her missive and, having given another bob,departed upon her ways.
"Why," the doctor cried in astonishment, "it's directed to me and inTom's writing. What can be the meaning of this?"
"Oh dear! oh dear!" Mrs. Dimsdale cried, with the quick perception ofwomanhood; "it means that he has failed."
"Impossible!" said the doctor, fumbling with nervous fingers at theenvelope. "By Jove, though," he continued, as he glanced over thecontents, "you're right. He has. Poor lad! he's more cut up about itthan we can be, so we must not blame him."
The good physician read the letter over several times before he finallyput it away in his note-book, and he did so with a thoughtful face whichshowed that it was of importance. As it has
an influence upon thefuture course of our story we cannot end the chapter better than byexercising our literary privilege, and peeping over the doctor'sshoulder before he has folded it up. This is the epistle_in extenso_:--
"My Dear Father,
"You will be sorry to hear that I have failed in my exam. I am very cut up about it, because I fear that it will cause you grief and disappointment, and you deserve neither the one nor the other at my hands."
"It is not an unmixed misfortune to me, because it helps me to make a request which I have long had in my mind. I wish you to allow me to give up the study of medicine and to go in for commerce. You have never made a secret of our money affairs to me, and I know that if I took my degree there would never be any necessity for me to practise. I should therefore have spent five years of my life in acquiring knowledge which would not be of any immediate use to me. I have no personal inclination towards medicine, while I have a very strong objection to simply living in the world upon money which other men have earned. I must therefore turn to some fresh pursuit for my future career, and surely it would be best that I should do so at once. What that fresh pursuit is to be I leave to your judgment. Personally, I think that if I embarked my capital in some commercial undertaking I might by sticking to my work do well. I feel too much cast down at my own failure to see you to-night, but to-morrow I hope to hear what you think from your own lips."
"TOM."
"Perhaps this failure will do no harm after all," the doctor mutteredthoughtfully, as he folded up the letter and gazed out at the cold glareof the northern sunset.