Thus urged, Reginald took his departure, though, with his customary unselfish affection, he would rather have stayed and helped him.
When he was gone, Louis began slowly to turn over the leaves of his Lexicon, in order to prepare his lesson. He had not been long thus employed, when he was interrupted by the irruption of the greatest dunce in the school, introduced to the reader in the former chapter as Churchill, alias Oars, a youth of fifteen, who had constant recourse to Louis for information. He now laid his dog's-eared Eutropius before Louis, and opened his business with his usual “Come now, tell us, Louis—help us a bit, Louis.”
“Indeed, Harry, it is impossible,” said Louis sorrowfully. “I have all my own to do, and if I do not get done before dinner I shall go into the third class—no one helps me, you know.”
“It won't take you a minute,” said Churchill.
“It does take much more. You know I was an hour last night writing your theme; and, Churchill, I do not think it is right.”
“Oh stuff! who's been putting that nonsense into your head?” replied Churchill. “It's all right and good, and like your own self, you're such a good-natured fellow.”
“And a very foolish one, sometimes,” said Louis. “Can't you get somebody else to show you?”
“Goodness gracious!” cried Churchill, “who do you think would do it now? and no one does it so well as you. Come, I say—come now—that's a good fellow,—now do.”
“But how is it that you want to learn your lesson now,” asked Louis? “Won't the evening do?”
“No; Dr. Wilkinson has given me leave to go out with my uncle this afternoon, if I learn this and say it to old Norton before I go; and I am sure I shan't get it done if you don't help me.”