Well，youbegintounderstandmybreakdownnow，Ihavebeencopiousenoughwiththeseapologia。Myworkgotmoreandmorespiritless，mybehaviourdegenerated，mypunctualitydeclined；I
wasmoreandmoreoutclassedinthesteadygrindbymyfellow-students。SuchsuppliesofmoralenergyasIstillhadatcommandshapednowinthedirectionofservingMarionratherthanscience。
Ifellawaydreadfully，moreandmoreIshirkedandskulked；thehumpedmenfromthenorth，thepalemenwiththin，clenchedminds，theintent，hard-breathingstudentsIfoundagainstme，fellatlastfromkeenrivalrytomoralcontempt。Evenagirlgotabovemeupononeofthelists。ThenindeedImadeitapointofhonourtoshowbymypublicdisregardofeveryrulethatIreallydidnotevenpretendtotry。
SoonedayIfoundmyselfsittinginamoodofconsiderableastonishmentinKensingtonGardens，reactingonarecentheatedinterviewwiththeschoolRegistrarinwhichIhaddisplayedmorespiritthansense。IwasastonishedchieflyatmystupendousfallingawayfromallthemilitantidealsofunflinchingstudyI
hadbroughtupfromWimblehurst。Ihaddisplayedmyself，astheRegistrarputit，“anunmitigatedrotter。”Myfailuretogetmarksinthewrittenexaminationhadonlybeenequalledbytheinsufficiencyofmypracticalwork。
“Iaskyou。”theRegistrarhadsaid，“whatwillbecomeofyouwhenyourscholarshiprunsout？”
Itcertainlywasaninterestingquestion。Whatwasgoingtobecomeofme？
ItwascleartherewouldbenothingformeintheschoolsasI
hadoncedaredtohope；thereseemed，indeed，scarcelyanythingintheworldexceptanillpaidassistantshipinsomeprovincialorganizedScienceSchoolorgrammarschool。Iknewthatforthatsortofwork，withoutadegreeoranyqualification，oneearnedhardlyabarelivingandhadlittleleisuretostruggleuptoanythingbetter。IfonlyIhadevenaslittleasfiftypoundsI
mightholdoutinLondonandtakemyB。Sc。degree，andquadruplemychances！Mybitternessagainstmyunclereturnedatthethought。Afterall，hehadsomeofmymoneystill，oroughttohave。Whyshouldn’tIactwithinmyrights，threatento’takeproceedings’？Imeditatedforaspaceontheidea，andthenreturnedtotheScienceLibraryandwrotehimaveryconsiderableandoccasionallypungentletter。
Thatlettertomyunclewasthenadirofmyfailure。Itsremarkableconsequences，whichendedmystudentdaysaltogether，Iwilltellinthenextchapter。
Isay“myfailure。”YettherearetimeswhenIcanevendoubtwhetherthatperiodwasafailureatall，whenIbecomedefensivelycriticalofthoseexactingcoursesIdidnotfollow，theencyclopaedicprocessofscientificexhaustionfromwhichI
wasdistracted。Mymindwasnotinactive，evenifitfedonforbiddenfood。IdidnotlearnwhatmyprofessorsanddemonstratorshadresolvedIshouldlearn，butIlearntmanythings。Mymindlearnttoswingwideandtoswingbyitself。
Afterall，thoseotherfellowswhotookhighplacesintheCollegeexaminationsandweretheprofessor’smodelboyshaven’tdonesoamazingly。Someareprofessorsthemselves，sometechnicalexperts；notonecanshowthingsdonesuchasI，followingmyowninterest，haveachieved。ForIhavebuiltboatsthatsmackacrossthewaterlikewhiplashes；nooneeverdreamtofsuchboatsuntilIbuiltthem；andIhavesurprisedthreesecretsthataremorethantechnicaldiscoveries，intheunexpectedhiding-placesofNature。Ihavecomenearerflyingthananymanhasdone。CouldIhavedoneasmuchifIhadhadaturnforobeyingthoserathermediocreprofessorsatthecollegewhoproposedtotrainmymind？IfIhadbeentrainedinresearch——thatridiculouscontradictioninterms——shouldIhavedonemorethanproduceadditionstotheexistingstoreoflittlepaperswithbluntedconclusions，ofwhichtherearealreadytoomany？Iseenosenseinmockmodestyuponthismatter。EvenbythestandardsofworldlysuccessIam，bythesideofmyfellow-students，nofailure。IhadmyF。R。S。bythetimeIwasthirty-seven，andifIamnotverywealthypovertyisasfarfrommeastheSpanishInquisition。SupposeIhadstampeddownontheheadofmywanderingcuriosity，lockedmyimaginationinaboxjustwhenitwantedtogrowouttothings，workedbyso-and-so’sexcellentmethodandso-and-so’sindications，whereshouldIbenow？
Imaybeallwronginthis。ItmaybeIshouldbeafarmoreefficientmanthanIamifIhadcutoffallthosedivergentexpendituresofenergy，pluggedupmycuriosityaboutsocietywithmorecurrentlyacceptablerubbishorother，abandonedEwart，evadedMarioninsteadofpursuingher，concentrated。ButIdon’tbelieveit！
However，IcertainlybelieveditcompletelyandwasfilledwithremorseonthatafternoonwhenIsatdejectedlyinKensingtonGardensandreviewed，inthelightoftheRegistrar’spertinentquestionsmyfirsttwoyearsinLondon。
ThroughoutmystudentdaysIhadnotseenmyuncle。IrefrainedfromgoingtohiminspiteofanoccasionalregretthatinthiswayIestrangedmyselffrommyauntSusan，andImaintainedasulkyattitudeofmindtowardshim。AndIdon’tthinkthatonceinallthattimeIgaveathoughttothatmysticwordofhisthatwastoalteralltheworldforus。YetIhadnotaltogetherforgottenit。Itwaswithatouchofmemory，dimtransientperplexityifnomore——whydidthisthingseeminsomewaypersonal？——thatIreadanewinscriptionuponthehoardings：
Thatwasall。Itwassimpleandyetinsomewayarresting。I
foundmyselfrepeatingthewordafterIhadpassed；itrousedone’sattentionlikethesoundofdistantguns。“Tono“——what’sthat？anddeep，rich，unhurrying；——“BUN——gay！”
Thencamemyuncle’samazingtelegram，hisanswertomyhostilenote：“Cometomeatonceyouarewantedthreehundredayearcertaintono-bungay。”
“ByJove！”Icried，“ofcourse！
“It’ssomething。Apatent-medicine！Iwonderwhathewantswithme。”
InhisNapoleonicwaymyunclehadomittedtogiveanaddress。
HistelegramhadbeenhandedinatFarringdonRoad，andaftercomplexmeditationsIrepliedtoPonderevo，FarringdonRoad，trustingtotherarityofoursurnametoreachhim。
“Whereareyou？”Iasked。
Hisreplycamepromptly：
“192A，RaggettStreet，E。C。”
ThenextdayItookanunsanctionedholidayafterthemorning’slecture。Idiscoveredmyuncleinawonderfullynewsilkhat——oh，asplendidhat！witharollingbrimthatwentbeyondthecommonfashion。Itwasdecidedlytoobigforhim——thatwasitsonlyfault。Itwasstuckonthebackofhishead，andhewasinawhitewaistcoatandshirtsleeves。Hewelcomedmewithaforgetfulnessofmybittersatireandmyhostileabstinencethatwasalmostdivine。Hisglassesfelloffatthesightofme。Hisroundinexpressiveeyesshonebrightly。Heheldouthisplumpshorthand。
“Hereweare，George！WhatdidItellyou？Needn’twhisperitnow，myboy。Shoutit——LOUD！spreaditabout！Telleveryone！
Tono——TONO——，TONO-BUNGAY！”
RaggettStreet，youmustunderstand，wasathoroughfareoverwhichsomeonehaddistributedlargequantitiesofcabbagestumpsandleaves。ItopenedoutoftheupperendofFarringdonStreet，and192Awasashopwiththeplate-glassfrontcolouredchocolate，onwhichseveralofthesamebillsIhadreaduponthehoardingshadbeenstuck。Thefloorwascoveredbystreetmudthathadbeenbroughtinondirtyboots，andthreeenergeticyoungmenofthehooligantype，inneck-wrapsandcaps，werepackingwoodencaseswithpapered-upbottles，amidstmuchstrawandconfusion。Thecounterwaslitteredwiththesesameswathedbottles，ofapatternthennovelbutnowamazinglyfamiliarintheworld，thebluepaperwiththecoruscatingfigureofageniallynudegiant，andtheprinteddirectionsofhowunderpracticallyallcircumstancestotakeTono-Bungay。BeyondthecounterononesideopenedastaircasedownwhichIseemtorememberagirldescendingwithafurtherconsignmentofbottles，andtherestofthebackgroundwasahighpartition，alsochocolate，with“TemporaryLaboratory“inscribeduponitinwhiteletters，andoveradoorthatpiercedit，“Office。”HereIrapped，inaudibleamidmuchhammering，andthenenteredunansweredtofindmyuncle，dressedasIhavedescribed，onehandgrippingasheathofletters，andtheotherscratchinghisheadashedictatedtooneofthreetoilingtypewritergirls。
Behindhimwasafurtherpartitionandadoorinscribed“ABSOLUTELYPRIVATE——NOADMISSION。”thereon。Thispartitionwasofwoodpaintedtheuniversalchocolate，uptoabouteightfeetfromtheground，andthenofglass。ThroughtheglassIsawdimlyacrowdedsuggestionofcruciblesandglassretorts，and——byJove！——yes！——thedearoldWimblehurstair-pumpstill！Itgavemequitealittlethrill——thatair-pump！Andbesideitwastheelectricalmachine——butsomething——someserioustrouble——hadhappenedtothat。Allthesewereevidentlyplacedonashelfjustattheleveltoshow。
“Comerightintothesanctum。”saidmyuncle，afterhehadfinishedsomethingabout“esteemedconsideration。”andwhiskedmethroughthedoorintoaroomthatquiteamazinglyfailedtoverifythepromiseofthatapparatus。Itwaspaperedwithdingywall-paperthathadpeeledinplaces；itcontainedafireplace，aneasy-chairwithacushion，atableonwhichstoodtwoorthreebigbottles，anumberofcigar-boxesonthemantel，whiskyTantalusandarowofsodasyphons。Heshutthedooraftermecarefully。
“Well，hereweare！”hesaid。“Goingstrong！Haveawhisky，George？No！——Wiseman！NeitherwillI！Youseemeatit！Atit——hard！”
“Hardatwhat？”
“Readit。”andhethrustintomyhandalabel——thatlabelthathasnowbecomeoneofthemostfamiliarobjectsofthechemist’sshop，thegreenish-blueratherold-fashionedbordering，thelegend，thenameingoodblacktype，veryclear，andthestrongmanallsetaboutwithlightningflashesabovethedoublecolumnofskilfulliesinred——thelabelofTono-Bungay。“It’safloat。”hesaid，asIstoodpuzzlingatthis。“It’safloat。
I’mafloat！”Andsuddenlyheburstoutsinginginthatthroatytenorofhis——
“I’mafloat，I’mafloatonthefierceflowingtide，Theocean’smyhomeandmybarkismybride！
“Rippingsongthatis，George。Notsomuchabarkasasolution，butstill——itdoes！Hereweareatit！By-the-by！Halfamo’！
