Gregory takes the pencil and begins figuring. He hiccoughs and flushes and pales.
“The fact is, this is an algebraical problem,” he says. “It ought to be solved with x and y. But it can be done in this way, too. Very well, I divide this by this, do you understand? Now then, I subtract it from this, see? Or, no, let me tell you, suppose you do this sum yourself for to-morrow. Think it out alone!”
Pete smiles maliciously. Udodoff smiles, too. Both realize the tutor’s perplexity. The high-school boy becomes still more violently embarrassed, rises, and begins to walk up and down.
“That sum can be done without the help of algebra,” says Udodoff, sighing and reaching for the counting board. “Look here!”
He rattles the counting board for a moment, and produces the answer 75 and 63, which is correct.
“That’s how we ignorant folks do it.”
The tutor falls a prey to the most unbearably painful sensations. He looks at the clock with a sinking heart, and sees that it still lacks an hour and a quarter to the end of the lesson. What an eternity that is!
“Now we will have some dictation,” he says.
After the dictation comes a lesson in geography; after that, Bible study; after Bible study, Russian—there is so much to learn in this world! At last the two hours’ lesson is over, Ziboroff reaches for his cap, condescendingly shakes hands with little Pete, and takes his leave of Udodoff.
“Could you let me have a little money to-day?” he asks timidly. “I must pay my school bill to-morrow. You owe me for six months’ lessons.”