“Thompson ought to be ashamed of himself,” cried Louis, “to be trying for a prize, and use a key.”
“Well, so he ought, but you won't get a prize if you begin now, and try till breaking-up day; so you hurt nobody, and get yourself out of a scrape. Don't be a donkey, Louis.”
When Churchill left him alone Louis looked at the title-page, and felt for an instant strongly tempted to avail himself of the assistance of the book; but something checked him, and he laid his arms suddenly on the table, and buried his face on them. A heavy hand laid on his shoulder roused him from this attitude; and looking up, with his eyes full of tears, he found Hamilton and Trevannion standing beside him.
“What's the matter, Louis?” said the former.
“I have so much to do;—I—I've been very careless and idle,” stammered Louis.
“I can readily believe that,” said Hamilton.
“A candid confession, at any rate,” remarked Trevannion.
“And do you imagine that your brains will be edified by coming in contact with these books?” asked Hamilton. “What have you to do?”
“I have this exercise to re-write, and my Greek to learn,—and—and—twenty lines of Homer to write out. I can't do all now—I shall have to stay in this afternoon.”
“I should think that more than probable,” said Trevannion.