The Life of the Fly 



blessed Thursday, which would give me time 

 to collect my forces. 



Thursday comes. The sky is grey and 

 cold. In this horrid weather, a grate well 

 filled with coke has its charms. Let's warm 

 ourselves and think. 



Well, my boy, you've landed yourself in a 

 nice predicament ! How will you manage to- 

 morrow? With a book, plodding all through 

 the night, if necessary, you might scrape up 

 something resembling a lesson, just enough 

 to fill the dread hour more or less. Then you 

 could see about the next: sufficient for the 

 day is the evil thereof. But you haven't the 

 book. And it's no use running out to the 

 bookshop. Algebraical treatises are not cur- 

 rent wares. You'll have to send for one, 

 w r hich will take a fortnight at least. And I've 

 promised for to-morrow, for to-morrow cer- 

 tain ! Another argument and one that admits 

 of no reply : funds are low ; my last pecuniary 

 resources lie in the corner of a drawer. I 

 count the money : it amounts to twelve sous, 

 which is not enough. 



Must I cry off ? Rather not ! One re- 

 source suggests itself: a highly improper one, 

 I admit, not far removed indeed from lar- 

 ceny. O quiet paths of algebra, you are my 



280 



