“Yes, so that I could know all the books of Euclid by heart, and have old Rebble obliged to come and stand before me, and feel as if all he had learned had run out of his head like water out of a sponge.”
“Never mind,” I said; “let’s work and learn.”
“You’ll have to, my lad.”
“Less talking there,” said Mr Rebble.
“Oh, very well,” whispered Mercer, and then he went on half aloud, but indistinctly, repeating the problem in Euclid over which he had broken down.
I glanced at Mr Rebble, and saw that he was watching us both intently, and I bent over my Latin grammar, and began learning the feminine nouns which ended in “us,” while Mercer half turned his head towards me.
“A little less noise at your end of the school, Mr Rebble, if you please,” said the Doctor blandly.
“Yes, sir,” said Mr Rebble, and then, in a low, severe voice, “Mercer, Burr junior, come up.”
Mercer threw his leg over the form, and I followed his example, involuntarily glancing across at my namesake, who made a grimace, and gave himself a writhe, as if suggesting that I should have a cut from the cane after being reported to the Doctor, and I knew that he was watching us both as we went up to the usher’s desk.
“Close up, both of you,” said Mr Rebble sternly, but in a low voice, so that his words should not reach the Doctor.