Merriwell did his work thoroughly, translating slowly and stopping to explain the derivation of every word about which Bob had the least doubt. He had a natural gift of making things plain, and in an hour’s time Hollister had acquired a pretty good notion of what it was all about. Then, after a hurried review of the chemistry lesson, they sallied forth to the lecture room.
“I think you’ll do in the Horace, old fellow,” Dick assured him. “Just keep your head and take it slowly, and you’ll come out all right.”
Such proved to be the case. About halfway through the hour, Professor Goodhue called Hollister’s name in a rather weary tone of voice, fully expecting a repetition of the absolute failures for which the fellow had become noted.
To his amazement, Hollister arose slowly and gave a very good rendering of the passage, even to construing accurately the few words the dazed professor asked him.
“That will do, Mr. Hollister,” the latter managed to say when Bob had finished. “Very good indeed. I should—er—like to congratulate you on the extraordinary improvement in your work.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bob murmured, his face a bit red.
On the campus outside, Dick slapped him on the back.
“Well done!” he exclaimed. “That was more than sixty, all right. You’ll do. Now for the lab. That’s going to be harder, for we didn’t give any time to it.”
As they mounted the steps to the chemical laboratory, Bob happened to catch a glimpse of Blake’s face, and the look of ill-tempered annoyance he saw there was an added incentive to renewed endeavor. The big, blond fellow was evidently not at all pleased with the surprising turn things had taken.
By some fortunate chance, Hollister was not called upon at all in chemistry. Perhaps the professor had grown weary of his constant failures and did not think it worth while. At all events, it gave Bob a little respite. There were no other recitations that day, and by to-morrow, he hoped, with Dick’s assistance, to have made up a little of the lost time.