He was beset with memories of the Pit, like scenes from some monstrous nightmare, and, try as he would, he could not dispel them.  He would fix his mind and eyes on Miss Wilson’s face, who was now sitting at her desk, and even as he looked at her the face of Brick Simpson, impudent and pugnacious, would arise before him.  It was of no use.  He felt sick and sore and tired and worthless.  There was nothing to be done but flunk.  And when, after an age of waiting, the papers were collected, his went in a blank, save for his name, the name of the examination, and the date, which were written across the top.

After a brief interval, more papers were given out, and the examination in arithmetic began.  He did not trouble himself to look at the questions.  Ordinarily he might have pulled through such an examination, but in his present state of mind and body he knew it was impossible.  He contented himself with burying his face in his hands and hoping for the noon hour.  Once, lifting his eyes to the clock, he caught Bessie looking anxiously at him across the room from the girls’ side.  This but added to his discomfort.  Why was she bothering him?  No need for her to trouble.  She was bound to pass.  Then why could n’t she leave him alone?  So he gave her a particularly glowering look and buried his face in his hands again.  Nor did he lift it till the twelve-o’clock gong rang, when he handed in a second blank paper and passed out with the boys.

Fred and Charley and he usually ate lunch in a corner of the yard which they had arrogated to themselves; but this day, by some remarkable coincidence, a score of other boys had elected to eat their lunches on the same spot.  Joe surveyed them with disgust.  In his present condition he did not feel inclined to receive hero-worship.  His head ached too much, and he was troubled over his failure in the examinations; and there were more to come in the afternoon.

He was angry with Fred and Charley.  They were chattering like magpies over the adventures of the night (in which, however, they did not fail to give him chief credit), and they conducted themselves in quite a patronizing fashion toward their awed and admiring schoolmates.  But every attempt to make Joe talk was a failure.  He grunted and gave short answers, and said “yes” and “no” to questions asked with the intention of drawing him out.

He was longing to get away somewhere by himself, to throw himself down some place on the green grass and forget his aches and pains and troubles.  He got up to go and find such a place, and found half a dozen of his following tagging after him.  He wanted to turn around and scream at them to leave him alone, but his pride restrained him.  A great wave of disgust and despair swept over him, and then an idea flashed through his mind.  Since he was sure to flunk in his examinations, why endure the afternoon’s torture, which could not but be worse than the morning’s?  And on the impulse of the moment he made up his mind.