“Well, congratters on your twenty-two. And you can bring your preparation to my study if you like, and I’ll give you a construe. I haven’t got any work to do myself.”
“Comes of being a scholar of Trinity,” remarked David, and fled.
Frank had written out the list of promotions into the twenty-two when David came to his study with a copy of “Œdipus Coloneus,” which was his lesson for next day, and he pushed it over to him.
“I’ve stuck you in first,” he said, “to prepare for your appearance next Saturday. Now we’ll leave the silly business alone. What’s your work? ‘Œdipus Coloneus’?”
“Yes; twenty-five lines of a chorus that’s simply beastly,” said David, finding his place. “There; line 668.”
Frank looked over his shoulder.
“Oh, it’s not without merit,” he said. “Now look out every word you don’t know, and then try to make something of it for half an hour. After that, I’ll give you a construe. No talking.”
“Oh, won’t you construe it first?” asked David. “It’ll save me a lot of trouble.”
“And did you suppose I wanted to save you trouble?” asked Frank.
David sighed.