Small tables were arranged all over the hall, but none of these were within speaking distance of each other, the object being to prevent one student from assisting another.
In the centre of the hall stood a pulpit, and all day long one or other of the professors would do sentry-go therein, and keep an eagle-eyed outlook upon the competitors to prevent inter-communication. But, as will be presently seen, all their alertness and vigilance did not have the desired effect.
The papers to be translated, with foolscap, pen, and ink, lay on each table.
Don’t smile, reader mine, at what I am now going to tell you, for remember Sandie M‘Crae is a character from real life, and I have to paint him as he was. Before even looking at the papers, then, Sandie bent low his head over his little table, and prayed long and earnestly that, if it were for his good, God might give him strength to do his work as it ought to be done. Then he said from his very heart, “Thy will be done.”
He did not even yet examine his papers. No, he had a good look around him first. Some had already begun to write. Others who, he knew, were good and clever students, sat poring over the version with gloomy faces and knitted brows, and from this he augured difficulty.
His friend, Willie Munro, he could see at no great distance. Willie was evidently drawing faces on his blotting-paper, but seeing Sandie looking towards him, he nodded and smiled.
“Happy boy!” thought Sandie.
Then he began to read.
With every sentence his hopes rose higher and higher. Why, here was no difficulty at all. Not a word he could not translate.
Well, he made up his mind now what he should do. As to doing the versions into English or Latin, as the case might be, that would be simple enough. But—and it really was a happy inspiration—he must have both the Latin and English elegant. There was just one danger attached to this scheme, he might be led to make a paraphrase of the translation, and well he knew that this would be fatal to success.