"Sit down and study, like a reasonable being. If I were a woman, I wouldn't look at a man who couldn't hold his head up when my back was turned."
"It is quite impossible for me to look at a book," said Rig.
"Very good; sit still and sigh, and I'll write your explanation."
"To whom? What about?" Rig sat up now and gazed at him.
"To the Prof. To-morrow. As follows:
"'Sir: I have the honour to state that I have fallen into a six-inch mud puddle, and cannot get out in time for recitation. So wave motion must wait.'"
"Stuff!" McLean said rather angrily.
"Stuff, and nothing but stuff. Rig, when you get fired in June, your dear devoted will not turn her head to see which way you go to take the train. Not much!" said Magnus, relieving his feelings with a bit of slang, and then diving into his own problems for the next day. And Rig could get neither word nor look more that night. But whatever traditions may say, unlimited chocolate creams do not help a man with his tactics; nor does plum cake after taps provide him a clear head for next day's wave motion.
"You could make better marks, Mr. McLean," said the Superintendent one day, meeting Rig. "Why don't you, sir?"
And if Rig had been openly honest, he would have answered: