“How do you know he is an old man?” inquired his father, smiling.
“I suppose he is.”
“He can’t be considered so. In fact, he is rather young.”
“It’s all the same,” said Fred, discontentedly. “I suppose he is as stiff as a poker.”
“He did not impress me so. With his help you will get through your lessons quickly; and then you can have the rest of the evening to yourself.”
“What is his name?” asked Laura.
“I will see if I can find his card,” said Mr. Vivian, pretending to search his pockets in vain. “Never mind, I will ask him when he comes.”
“You did not tell me you thought of making this arrangement for Fred,” said Mrs. Vivian.
“I see,” said her husband, smiling, “that you are a little in doubt as to its expediency. If at the end of a week it appears unsatisfactory I will dismiss the professor.”
Fred was relieved by this promise. He had already formed in his own mind an image of the expected teacher,—a tall, thin man, in a rusty-black suit, wearing a pair of iron-bowed spectacles. He had seen the tutor of a schoolmate of his who answered this description, and hastily adopted the conclusion that most visiting tutors were like him.