We moved closer.
“Now, sir,” he said sternly, “I called for silence twice, and you, Mercer, and you, Burr junior, both kept on speaking. I distinctly saw your lips moving—both of you. Now, sir, I insist upon your repeating the words you said as I caught your eye.”
“Subtending the right angle, sir,” said Mercer promptly.
“And you, sir?” continued Mr Rebble, turning to me.
“Idus, quercus, ficus, manus, sir,” I replied innocently.
“That will do. Go back to your places, and if I do catch you talking again in school hours—”
“Please, sir, that wasn’t talking,” said Mercer in expostulation.
“Silence, sir. I say, if I do catch you talking, I shall report you to the Doctor. That will do.”
We went demurely enough back to our places, and this summons had the effect upon me of making me feel more ill-used than before. As I once more went on with my Latin, I was conscious that Mercer was writing something on his slate, and when it was done, he wetted his hand, and gave me a nudge, for me to read what he had written.
“He don’t like you, because we’re friends. He don’t like me. Yah! Who don’t know how to fish?”