“Hi, Sam!” cried Glyn. “Seen anything of Mr Singh?”
“Yes, sir; I see him down the town—saw him down the town, sir, I mean,” said the boy hastily, recalling the fact that he had been corrected several times about his use of the verb “To see.”
“Saw him down the town,” he muttered to himself. “See, saw; see, saw. Wish I could recollect all that.”
“Which way was he going?” said Glyn.
“Straight down, sir, towards the church, along of Mr Morris, sir.”
“Humph! Gone for a walk, I suppose,” said Glyn thoughtfully.
“Yes, sir, they were walking, sir. Shall I tell him you want him, sir, when he comes back?”
“Oh no, I don’t think you need. I dare say he’ll come to me,” replied Glyn, and he strolled into the big class-room, unlocked his desk, got out a book of travels, opened it at one particular spot which he had reached a day or two before, and then began to read, growing so interested that a couple of hours glided away like half of one.
Then, closing the book with a sigh, as the dial on the wall insisted upon the fact that time was passing, he replaced the work and went up to his room to prepare for the evening meal.
“What a pity it is,” he said, “that half-holidays will go so quickly. Classic afternoons always seem three times as long, and so do Mr Morris’s lessons. I wish I were not so stupid over mathematics.”