1. READING COMPREHENSION
Numbers 21-30: After the reading, answer the questions by choosing the correct option for each.
ZÉÉw@uçx? `ÜA V{|Ñá
by James Hilton, Little, Brown & Co., © 1934
THERE CAME TO CHIPS, stirred by the warmth of the fire and the gentle aroma of tea, a thousand tangled
recollections of old times. Spring— the spring of 1896. He was forty-eight— an age at which a permanence of
habits begins to be predictable. He had just been appointed housemaster; with this and his classical forms, he
had made for himself a warm and busy corner of life. During the summer vacation he went up to the Lake
District with Rowden, a colleague; they walked and climbed for a week, until Rowden had to leave suddenly on
some family business. Chips stayed on alone at Wasdale Head, where he boarded in a small farmhouse.
One day, climbing on Great Gable, he noticed a girl waving excitedly from a dangerous-looking ledge.
Thinking she was in difficulty, he hastened toward her, but in doing so slipped himself and wrenched his ankle.
As it turned out, she was not in difficulty at all, but was merely signaling to a friend farther down the mountain;
she was an expert climber, better than even Chips, who was pretty good. Thus he found himself the rescued
instead of the rescuer; and neither role was one for which he had much relish. For he did not, he would have
said, care for women; he never felt at home or at ease with them; and that monstrous creature beginning to be
talked about, the New Woman of the nineties, filled him with horror. He was a quiet, conventional person, and
the world, viewed from the haven of Brookfield, seemed to him full of distasteful innovations; there was a fellow
named George Bernard Shaw who had the most reprehensible opinions; there was Ibsen, too, with his disturbing
plays; and there was this new craze for bicycling, which was being taken up by women equally with men. Chips
did not hold with all this modern newness and freedom. He had a vague notion, if ever he formulated it, that
nice women were weak, timid and delicate, and that nice men treated them with a polite but rather distant
chivalry. He had not, therefore, expected to find a woman on Great Gable; but, having met one who seemed to
need masculine help, it was even more terrifying that she should turn the tables by helping him. For she did.
She and her friend had to. He could scarcely walk, and it was a hard job getting him down the steep track to
Wasdale Head.
Her name was Katherine Bridges; she was twenty-five—young enough to be Chips’s daughter. She had
blue, flashing eyes and freckled cheeks and smooth straw-colored hair. She too was staying at a farm, on
holiday with her girlfriend, and as she considered herself responsible for Chips’s accident, she used to bicycle to
the house in which the quiet, serious-looking man lay resting.
That was how she thought of him at first. And he, because she rode a bicycle and was unafraid to visit a
man alone in a sitting room, wondered what the world was coming to. His sprain put him at her mercy, and it
was soon revealed to him how much he might need that mercy. She was a governess and out of a job, with a
little money saved up; she read and admired Ibsen; she believed that women ought to be admitted to the
universities; she even thought they ought to have the vote. In politics she was a radical, with leanings toward
people like George Bernard Shaw and William Morris. All her ideas and opinions she poured out to Chips
during those summer afternoons; and he did not at first think it worthwhile to contradict them. Her friend went
away, but she stayed; what could you do with such a person, Chips thought. He used to hobble with sticks along
a footpath leading to a tiny church; there was a stone slab on the wall, and it was comfortable to sit down, facing
the sunlight and the green-brown majesty of the Great Gable and listening to the chatter of—well, yes, Chips
had to admit it—a very beautiful girl.
He had never met anyone like her. He had always thought that the modern type, this New Woman
business, would repel him; and here she was, making him positively look forward to the glimpse of her bicycle
careering alongside the lakeside road. And she, too, had never met anyone like him. She had always thought
that middle-aged men who read the Times and disapproved of modernity were terrible bores; yet here he was,
claiming her interest and attention far more than youths her own age. She liked him, initially, because he was
so hard to get to know; because he had gentle and quiet manners; because his opinions dated from those utterly
impossible seventies and eighties and even earlier—yet were, for all that, so thoroughly honest; and because—
because his eyes were brown and he looked charming when he smiled. “Of course, I shall call you Chips, too,”
she said when she learned that was his nickname at school.
Within a week they were head over heels in love; before Chips could walk without a stick, they were
engaged; and they were married in London a week before the beginning of the autumn term.
3

2. 4

3. 21. What was the most significant thing that
happened to Chips in the summer of 1896?
(A) He turned forty-eight.
(B) He was appointed housemaster.
(C) He went to the Lake District and climbed on Great Gable.
(D) He was rescued by a young woman.
(E) He learned to ride a bicycle.
22. Katherine was waving excitedly because she
(A) was in difficulty.
(B) was trying to get her friend’s attention.
(C) was greeting Chips.
(D) saw something unusual.
(E) had lost her way on the path.
23. Which of the following is NOT true?
(A) Chips did not like women.
(B) Katherine was unemployed.
(C) Ibsen was a playwright.
(D) Katherine was conservative in her thinking.
(E) Chips’s and Katherine’s eyes were different colors.
24. All of the following are false EXCEPT
(A) Katherine was traveling alone.
(B) Chips disliked the fact that Katherine rode a bicycle.
(C) Chips was his real name.
(D) Katherine wore a straw hat.
(E) Chips was born in 1858.
25. Chips thought nice women were NOT
(A) modern.
(B) shy.
(C) frail.
(D) dainty.
(E) reserved.
26. Which of the following is true?
(A) Great Gable was the name of an inn.
(B) Katherine had brown eyes.
(C) Chips admired George Bernard Shaw.
(D) The Times was a conservative newspaper.
(E) Katherine was born in 1872.
27. What saying best sums up the relationship
between Katherine and Chips?
(A) Birds of a feather flock together.
(B) It takes one to know one.
(C) Love at first sight.
(D) Opposites attract.
(E) Marry first, and love will follow.
28. Katherine liked Chips for all of the following
reasons EXCEPT
(A) He was polite and kind.
5

4. (B) It was difficult to know him.
(C) He had a nice smile.
(D) He was old-fashioned.
(E) They both enjoyed hiking.
29. The word “hobble” in line 34 means
(A) play.
(B) limp.
(C) tap.
(D) kick.
(E) walk.
30. In line 17 the word “vague” means
(A) indistinct.
(B) clear.
(C) sudden.
(D) persistent.
(E) firm.
Go to the next page.
6

5. READING COMPREHENSION
Numbers 51-68: After each reading, answer the questions by choosing the correct option for each and write
the letter of your answer on the blank space.
Y|yà{ Uâá|Çxáá
by Robertson Davies, Viking Penguin Inc., New York, New York © 1970
G
MY LIFELONG INVOLVEMENT with Mrs. Dempster began at 5.58 o’clock p.m. on 27 December 1908, at which
time I was ten years and seven months old.
I am able to date the occasion with complete certainty because that afternoon I had been sledding with
my lifelong friend and enemy Percy Boyd Staunton, and we had quarreled, because his fine new Christmas
sled would not go as fast as my old one. Snow was never heavy in our part of the world, but this Christmas it
had been plentiful enough almost to cover the tallest spears of dried grass in the fields; in such snow his sled
with its tall runners and foolish steering apparatus was clumsy and apt to stick, whereas my low-slung old
affair would almost have slid on grass without snow.
The afternoon had been humiliating for him, and when Percy was humiliated he was vindictive. His
parents were rich, his clothes were fine, and his mittens were of skin and came from a store in the city,
whereas mine were knitted by my mother; it was manifestly wrong, therefore, that his splendid sled should
not go faster than mine, and when such injustice showed itself Percy became cranky. He slighted my sled,
scoffed at my mittens, and at last came right out and said that his father was better than my father. Instead
of hitting him, which might have started a fight that could have ended in a draw or even a defeat for me, I
said, all right, then, I would go home and he could have the field all to himself. This was crafty of me, for I
knew it was getting on for suppertime, and one of our home rules was that nobody, under any circumstances,
was to be late for a meal. So I was keeping the home rule, while at the same time leaving Percy to himself.
As I walked back to the village he followed me, shouting fresh insults. When I walked, he taunted, I
staggered like an old cow; my woolen cap was absurd beyond all belief; my backside was immense and
wobbled when I walked; and more of the same sort, for his invention was not lively. I said nothing, because
I knew that this spited him more than any retort, and that every time he shouted at me he lost face.
Our village was so small that you came on it at once; it lacked the dignity of outskirts. I darted up our
street, putting on speed, for I had looked ostentatiously at my new Christmas dollar watch (Percy had a
watch but was not let wear it because it was too good) and saw that it was 5.57; just time to get indoors, wash
my hands in the noisy, splashy way my parents seemed to like, and be in my place at six, my head bent for
grace. Percy was by this time hopping mad, and I knew I had spoiled his supper and probably his whole
evening. Then the unforeseen took over.
Walking up the street ahead of me were the Reverend Amasa Dempster and his wife; he had her arm
tucked in his and was leaning towards her in the protective way he had. I was familiar with this sight, for
they always took a walk at this time, after dark and when most people were at supper, because Mrs.
Dempster was going to have a baby, and it was not the custom in our village for pregnant women to show
themselves boldly in the streets – not if they had any position to keep up, and of course the Baptist minister’s
wife had a position. Percy had been throwing snowballs at me, from time to time, and I had ducked them all;
I had a boy’s sense of when a snowball was coming, and I knew Percy. I was sure that he would try to land
one last, insulting snowball between my shoulders before I ducked into our house. I stepped briskly – not
running, but not dawdling – in front of the Dempsters just as Percy threw, and the snowball hit Mrs.
Dempster on the back of the head. She gave a cry and, clinging to her husband, slipped to the ground; he
might have caught her if he had not turned at once to see who had thrown the snowball.
I had meant to dart into our house, but I was unnerved by hearing Mrs. Dempster; I had never heard an
adult cry in pain before and the sound was terrible to me. Falling, she burst into nervous tears, and
suddenly there she was, on the ground, with her husband kneeling beside her, holding her in his arms and
speaking to her in terms of endearment that were strange and embarrassing to me; I had never heard
married people – or any people – speak unashamedly loving words before. I knew that I was watching a
7

6. “scene,” and my parents had always warned against scenes as very serious breaches of propriety. I stood
gaping, and then Mr. Dempster became conscious of me.
“Dunny,” he said – I did not know he knew my name – “lend us your sleigh to get my wife home.”
I was contrite and guilty, for I knew that the snowball had been meant for me, but the Dempsters did not
seem to think that. He lifted his wife on my sled, which was not hard because she was a small, girlish
woman, and as I pulled it towards their house he walked beside it, very awkwardly bent over her, supporting
her and uttering soft endearment and encouragement, for she went on crying, like a child.
Their house was not far away – just around the corner, really – but by the time I had been there, and seen
Mr. Dempster take his wife inside, and found myself unwanted outside, it was a few minutes after six, and I
was late for supper. But I pelted home (pausing only for a moment at the scene of the accident), washed my
hands, slipped into my place at table, and made my excuse, looking straight into my mother’s sternly
interrogative eyes. I gave my story a slight historical bias, leaning firmly but not absurdly on my own role as
the Good Samaritan. I suppressed any information or guesswork about where the snowball had come from,
and to my relief my mother did not pursue that aspect of it. She was much more interested in Mrs.
Dempster, and when supper was over and the dishes washed she told my father she thought she would just
step over to the Dempsters’ and see if there was anything she could do.
_____ 51. When was Dunny, the narrator, born? _____ 55. From this reading, we can see that Percy
(A) in May of 1898 (A) is easy to get along with.
(B) in July of 1897 (B) has many friends.
(C) in April of 1898 (C) is somewhat temperamental.
(D) in April of 1897 (D) is very athletic.
(E) It cannot be determined from the story. (E) likes to play alone.
_____ 52. Which statement is NOT true? _____ 56. In line 36 the word “dawdling” means
(A) Dunny’s sled was faster than Percy’s. (A) delaying
(B) Percy came from a wealthy family. (B) hurrying
(C) Mrs. Dempster was unintentionally hit with (C) standing still
a snowball. (D) playing
(D) Dunny was surprised that Reverend (E) following
Dempster knew his name.
(E) Percy and Dunny never got along. _____ 57. Which statement is true?
(A) Dunny told his mother who threw the
_____ 53. The word “ostentatiously” in line 23 most snowball.
nearly means (B) Dunny was late for diner.
(A) conspicuously. (C) Mrs. Dempster rarely took walks with her
(B) quickly. husband.
(C) deliberately. (D) Percy was happy because he had everything
(D) timidly. he wanted.
(E) carefully. (E) Dunny wobbled when he walked.
_____ 54. Why didn’t Dunny say anything in response to _____ 58. Dunny thought of himself as a Good Samaritan
Percy’s insults? because he
(A) He did not want to make Percy angry. (A) was kind to Percy.
(B) By saying nothing Dunny knew he would (B) obeyed his parents.
make Percy even angrier. (C) took Mrs. Dempster home on his sled.
(C) Dunny was too kind to retaliate. (D) had not thrown the snowball.
(D) Percy’s insults did not hurt Dunny. (E) told his mother the truth.
(E) Dunny did not know what to say.
8

7. g{x TÑÑÄx gÜxx
by John Galsworthy, Charles Scribner’s Sons, © 1918
G
ON THEIR SILVER-WEDDING DAY Ashurst and his wife were motoring along the outskirts of the moor, intending
to crown the festival by stopping the night at Torquay, where they had first met. This was the idea of Stella
Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of sentiment. If she had long lost the blue-eyed, flowerlike
charm, the cool, slim purity of face and form, the apple-blossom coloring, which had so swiftly and so oddly
affected Ashurst twenty-six years ago, she was still at forty-three a comely and faithful companion, whose
cheeks were faintly mottled and whose gray-blue eyes had acquired a certain fullness.
It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to the left, and a narrow strip of larch
and beech, with here and there a pine, stretched out toward the valley between the road and the first long
high hill of the full moor. She was looking for a place where they might picnic, for Ashurst never looked for
anything; and this, between the golden furze and the feathery green larches smelling of lemons in the last
sun of April—this, with a view into the deep valley and up to the long moor heights, seemed fitting to the
decisive nature of one who sketched in watercolors and loved romantic spots. Grasping her paint box, she
got out.
“Won’t this do, Frank?”
Ashurst, bearded, gray at the sides, tall and long-legged, with large remote gray eyes that sometimes
filled with meaning and became almost beautiful, with a nose a little to one side and bearded lips just
open—Ashurst, forty-eight and silent, grasped the picnic basket and got out too.
“Oh! Look, Frank! A grave!”
By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common crossed it at right angles and ran
through a gate past the narrow wood, was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to the west,
and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a handful of bluebells. Ashurst looked, and the poet
in him moved.
At crossroads—a suicide’s grave! Poor mortals with their superstitions! Whoever lay there, though, had
the best of it, no clammy sepulcher among other hideous graves carved with futilities—just a rough stone,
the wide sky and wayside blessings!
Without comment he strode away up onto the common, dropped the picnic basket under a wall, spread a
blanket for his wife to sit on—she would turn up from her sketching when she was hungry—and took from
his pocket Murray’s translation of the Hippolytus. He had soon finished reading of the Cyprian, the goddess
of love, and her revenge, and looked at the sky instead.
Watching the white clouds so bright against the intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver-wedding day, longed
for—he knew not what. Maladjusted to life—civilized man! One’s mode of life might be high and
scrupulous, but there was always an undercurrent of greediness, a hankering and a sense of waste. Did
women have it too? Who could tell?
And yet, men who gave vent to their appetites for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new
risks, new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of starvation, from surfeit. No getting
out of it—a maladjusted animal, civilized man! There could be no garden of his choosing, of “the Apple-tree,
the singing, and the gold,” in the words of that lovely Greek chorus, no achievable Elysium in life, or lasting
haven of happiness for any man with a sense of beauty—nothing that could compare with the captured
loveliness in a work of art, set down forever, so that to look on it or to read it was always to have the same
precious sense of exaltation and intoxication.
Life had moments with that quality of beauty, of unbidden flying rapture, but the trouble was that they
lasted no longer than the span of a cloud’s flight over the sun; impossible to keep them with you, as art
caught beauty and held it fast. They were as fleeting as one of the glimmering or golden visions one had of
the soul in nature, glimpses of its remote and brooding spirit. Here, with the sun hot on his face, a cuckoo
calling from a thorn tree, and in the air the honey savor of gorse—here among the little fronds of the young
fern, the starry blackthorn, while the bright clouds drifted by high above the hills and dreamy valleys—here
and now was such a glimpse.
5

8. And suddenly he sat up. Surely there was something familiar about this view, this bit of common, that
ribbon of road, the old wall behind him. While they were driving he had not been taking notice—he never
did; thinking of faraway things or of nothing—but now he saw!
Twenty-six years ago, just at this time of year, from a farmhouse within half a mile of this very spot, he
had started for Torquay whence it might be said he had never returned. And a sudden ache beset his heart;
he had stumbled on just one of those past moments in his life whose beauty and rapture he had failed to
arrest, whose wings had fluttered away into the unknown; he had stumbled on a buried memory, a wild
sweet time, swiftly choked and ended. And, turning on his face, he rested his chin on his hands and stared
at the short grass where the little blue milkwort was growing….
And this is what he remembered.
_____ 59. How old was Stella when she first met Frank?
(A) twenty-six
(B) eighteen
(C) twenty-two
(D) seventeen
(E) It cannot be determined from the reading.
_____ 60. In line 6 the word “mottled” means
(A) blotchy.
(B) wrinkled.
(C) shiny.
(D) flushed.
(E) puffy.
_____ 61. The word “common” in line 7 means
(A) slope.
(B) farm.
(C) path.
(D) meadow.
(E) beach.
_____ 62. Which of the following statements is NOT
true?
(A) It was a lovely day for a picnic.
(B) Ashurst noticed the beauty of nature around him.
(C) Stella was more of a planner than her husband.
(D) Ashurst was content with his life.
(E) Stella seemed more interested in sketching than in eating.
_____ 63. The word “scrupulous” in line 32 means
(A) easy.
(B) important.
(C) comfortable
(D) demanding
(E) conscientious.
_____ 64. Ashurst thought that
(A) his wife was a good artist.
(B) life was better than art because it was real.
(C) art was better than life because it endured.
(D) it was going to rain.
(E) life and art were very similar.
_____ 65. In line 35 the word “surfeit” means
(A) lack.
(B) excess.
(C) surrender.
6

9. (D) hunger.
(E) satisfaction.
_____ 66. Ashurst eventually realized that
(A) he had misplaced the picnic basket.
(B) his wife was not interested in eating.
(C) he would never be happy.
(D) he had returned to a place that he knew.
(E) his wife no longer loved him.
_____ 67. In line 24 the word “sepulcher” means
(A) bench.
(B) wall.
(C) tomb.
(D) hiding place.
(E) headstone.
_____ 68. Which of the following statements is true?
(A) Frank and Stella were married for twenty
years.
(B) Stella was five years younger than Frank.
(C) Frank had been driving the car.
(D) Frank’s eyes were blue.
(E) Frank got out of the car first.
Go on to the next section.
7

10. READING COMPREHENSION
Numbers 61-82: After each reading, answer the questions by choosing the correct option for each.
WtÇwxÄ|ÉÇ j|Çx
by Ray Bradbury, Doubleday & Co., Garden City, New York © 1946
G
IT WAS A QUIET MORNING, the town covered over with darkness and at ease in bed. Summer gathered in the
weather, the wind had the proper touch, the breathing of the world was long and warm and slow. You had
only to rise, lean from your window, and know that this indeed was the first real time of freedom and living,
this was the first morning of summer.
Douglas Spaulding, twelve, freshly wakened, let summer idle him on its early-morning stream. Lying in
this third-story cupola bedroom, he felt the tall power it gave him, riding high in the June wind, the grandest
tower in town. At night, when the trees washed together, he flashed his gaze like a beacon from this
lighthouse in all directions over swarming seas of elm and oak and maple. Now. . .
“Boy,” whispered Douglas.
A whole summer ahead to cross off the calendar, day by day. Like the goddess Siva in the travel books,
he saw his hands jump everywhere, pluck sour apples, peaches, and midnight plums. He would be clothed
in trees and bushes and rivers. He would freeze, gladly, in the hoarfrosted ice-house door. He would bake,
happily, with ten thousand chickens, in Grandma’s kitchen.
But now- a familiar task awaited him.
One night each week he was allowed to leave his father, his mother, and his younger brother Tom asleep
in their small house next door and run here, up the dark spiral stairs to his grandparents’ cupola, and in this
sorcerer’s tower sleep with thunders and visions, to wake before the crystal jingle of milk bottles and perform
his ritual magic.
He stood at the open window in the dark, took a deep breath and exhaled.
The street lights, like candles on a black cake, went out. He exhaled again and again and the stars began
to vanish.
Douglas smiled. He pointed a finger.
There, and there. Now over here, and here . . .
Yellow squares were cut in the dim morning earth as house lights winked slowly on. A sprinkle of
windows came suddenly alight miles off in the dawn country.
“Everyone yawn. Everyone up.”
The great house stirred below.
“Grandpa, get your teeth from the water glass!” He waited a decent interval. “Grandma and Great-
grandma, fry hot cakes!”
The warm scent of fried batter rose in the drafty halls to stir the boarders, the aunts, the uncles, the
visiting cousins, in their rooms.
“Street where all the Old People live, wake up! Miss Helen Loomis, Colonel Freeleigh, Miss Bentley!
Cough, get up, take pills, move around! Mr. Jonas, hitch up your horse, get your junk wagon out and
around!”
The bleak mansions across the town ravine opened baleful dragon eyes. Soon, in the morning avenues
below, two old women would glide their electric Green Machine, waving at all the dogs. “Mr. Tridden, run
to the carbarn!” Soon, scattering hot blue sparks above it, the town trolley would sail the rivering brick
streets.
“Ready John Huff, Charlie Woodman?” whispered Douglas to the Street of Children. “Ready!” to
baseballs sponged deep in wet lawns, to rope swings hung empty in trees.
“Mom, Dad, Tom, wake up.”
Clock alarms tinkled faintly. The courthouse clock boomed. Birds leaped from trees like a net thrown by
his hand, singing. Douglas, conducting an orchestra, pointed to the eastern sky.
The sun began to rise.
8

11. He folded his arms and smiled a magician’s smile. Yes, sir, he thought, everyone jumps, everyone runs
when I yell. It’ll be a fine season.
He gave the town a last snap of his fingers.
Doors slammed open; people stepped out.
Summer 1928 began.
61. In line 1 the description of the town as 65. From this reading, we can see that Douglas
“covered over with darkness and at ease in bed” is (F) is a lazy boy.
an example of (G) has a very active imagination.
(F) a symbol. (H) is bored with life.
(G) a simile. (I) has trouble sleeping at night.
(H) contrast. (J) does not like where he lives.
(I) exaggeration.
(J) personification. 66. In line 34 the author uses the word “ravine.”
What is a ravine?
62. In line 7 what do the words, “when the trees (F) a deep, narrow valley
washed together,” mean? (G) a stream
(F) It was raining. (H) a broad avenue
(G) Clothing was hung on them to dry. (I) a small hill
(H) A strong wind was blowing. (J) a border
(I) In the darkness the separateness of
the trees was blurred. 67. In line 28 who is saying “Grandpa, get your
(J) The trees were growing too closely teeth from the water glass!”?
together. (F) Douglas’ grandmother
63. “A whole summer ahead to cross off the (G) Douglas’ cousin
calendar, day by day.” in line 10 is an example of (H) Douglas himself
(F) a run-on sentence. (I) Douglas’ father
(G) a sentence fragment. (J) Douglas’ neighbour
(H) a mixed metaphor.
(I) a misplaced modifier. 68. In line 34 the word “baleful” means
(J) a dangling participle. (F) drowsy.
(G) clear.
64. During his weekly ritual Douglas pretended (H) enormous.
he was (I) forlorn.
(F) God. (J) threatening.
(G) The conductor of an orchestra.
(H) a wizard.
(I) an astronaut.
(J) a circus performer.
9

12. ZÉÉw@uçx? `ÜA V{|Ñá
by James Hilton, Little, Brown & Co., © 1934
G
ACROSS THE ROAD behind a rampart of ancient elms lay Brookfield, russet under its autumn mantle of creeper.
A group of eighteenth-century buildings centered upon a quadrangle, and there were acres of playing fields
beyond; then came the small dependent village and the open fen country. Brookfield, as Wetherby had said,
was an old foundation; established in the reign of Elizabeth, it might, with better luck, have become as
famous as Harrow. Its luck, however, had been not so good; the school went up and down, dwindling almost
to nonexistence at one time, becoming illustrious at another.
It was during one of these latter periods that the main structure had been rebuilt and large additions
made. Later, after the Napoleonic Wars and until mid-Victorian days, the school declined again, both in
numbers and in repute. Wetherby, who came in 1840, restored its fortunes somewhat; but its subsequent
history never raised it to front-rank status. It was, nevertheless, a good school of second rank. Several
notable families supported it, it supplied fair samples of the history-making men of the age— judges,
members of Parliament, colonial administrators, a few peers and bishops. Mostly, however, it turned out
merchants, manufacturers and professional men, with a good sprinkling of country squires and parsons. It
was the sort of school which, when mentioned, would sometimes make snobbish people confess that they
rather thought they had heard of it.
But if it had not been this sort of school, it would probably not have taken Chips. For Chips, in any
social or academic case, was just as respectable as, but no more brilliant than Brookfield itself.
It had taken him some time to realize this, at the beginning. Not that he was boastful or conceited,
but he had been, in his early twenties, as ambitious as most other young men at such an age. His dream had
been to get a headship eventually, or at any rate a senior mastership in a really first-class school; it was only
gradually, after repeated trials and failures, that he realized the inadequacy of his qualifications. His
degree, for instance, was not particularly good, and his discipline, though good enough and improving, was
not absolutely reliable under all conditions. He had no private means and no family connections of any
importance. About 1880, after he had been at Brookfield a decade, he began to recognize that the odds were
heavily against his being able to better himself by moving elsewhere; but about that time, also, the
possibility of staying where he was began to fill a comfortable niche in his mind. At forty, he was rooted,
settled and quite happy. At fifty, he was the doyen of the staff. At sixty, under a new and youthful Head, he
was Brookfield— the guest of honor at Old Brookfeldian dinners, the court of appeal in all matters affecting
Brookfield history and traditions. And in 1913, when he turned sixty-five, he retired, was presented with a
check and a writing desk and a clock, and went across the road to live at Mrs. Wickett’s. A decent career,
decently closed; three cheers for old Chips, they all shouted at that uproarious end-of-term dinner.
Three cheers, indeed; but there was more to come, an unguessed epilogue, an encore played to a
tragic audience.
69. The word “rampart” in line 1 means 71. The word “fen” in line 3 means
(F) border. (F) meadow.
(G) grove. (G) farm.
(H) high wall. (H) marsh.
(I) cluster. (I) forest.
(J) scattering. (J) scraggly.
70. In line 1 the word “russet” means 72. In line 5 the word “dwindling” means
(F) reddish-brown. (F) flourishing.
(G) quaint. (G) diminishing.
(H) tucked. (H) changing.
(I) lovely. (I) spinning.
(J) golden. (J) growing.
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13. 73. The word “parsons” in line 13 means
(F) mayors.
(G) farmers. 78. In line 32 the word “epilogue” means
(H) lords. (F) story.
(I) pastors. (G) surprise.
(J) nobles. (H) disaster.
74. In line 26 the word “niche” means (I) message.
(F) place. (J) conclusion.
(G) thought. 79. Brookfield was
(H) idea. (A) a first rate school.
(I) dream. (B) a mediocre school.
(J) doubt. (C) a stable school.
75. Chips never left Brookfield because (D) a second rank school.
(F) he earned a good salary there. (E) as famous as Harrow.
(G) the students liked him. 80. Chips was born in
(H) there was a shortage of teachers. (A) 1870.
(I) he was going to be Headmaster there. (B) 1858.
(J) he became settled and comfortable (C) 1848.
there. (D) 1843.
76. In roughly what year did Chips start teaching (E) 1853.
at Brookfield?
(F) 1840 81. How old was Chips when he came to
(G) 1880 Brookfield?
(H) 1913 (A) 22
(I) 1870 (B) 30
(J) It cannot be determined from the (C) 25
story. (D) 24
(E) It cannot be determined from the
77. The word “doyen” in line 27 means story.
(F) tyrant.
(G) senior member. 82. When Chips retired
(H) leader. (A) he remained on the campus.
(I) secretary. (B) he was given two gifts.
(J) treasurer. (C) he went to live at Mrs. Wetherby’s.
(D) he was honoured at a farewell banquet.
(E) he went to the court of appeals.
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