The Pleasant Ways of Learning.
“Now, Master Grayson,” said Mr Limpney, “what am I to say to the doctor!”
The private tutor threw himself back in his seat in the study, vacated by the doctor, while Dexter had his lessons, placed his hands behind his head, and, after wrinkling his forehead in lines from his brow to right on the top, where the hair began, he stared hard at his pupil.
“I say again, sir, what am I to tell the doctor!”
“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. Then, plucking up a little spirit: “I wrote out all my history questions, and did the parsing with a little help from Miss Grayson, and I did the sum you set me all by myself.”
“Yes; but the Algebra, the Classics, and the Euclid! Where are they?”
“There they are,” said Dexter, pointing dismally to some books on the table.
“Yes, sir, there they are—on that table, when they ought to be in your head.”
“But they won’t go in my head, sir,” cried Dexter desperately.
“Nonsense, sir! you will not let them, and I warn you plainly, that if we do not make better progress, I shall tell the doctor that I will not continue to take his payment for nothing.”