“What do you think of that, John?” demanded Peter.
John Wall, who was, in feeling, a young aristocrat, did not in general affect the society of Peter, nor care to be considered intimate with him, but a common hatred often makes strange yoke-fellows; so now he was disposed to co-operate with Peter, and be gracious to him, in the hope that he would make trouble for Walter, whose independent spirit had occasioned his cordial dislike. When, therefore, Peter addressed him familiarly, he overlooked what, under other circumstances, would have been disagreeable to him, and replied: “I’ll bet on you, Peter.”
“Of course you will; you’d be a fool not to,” said Peter.
John did not quite like the way in which he expressed it, but, for the reason before mentioned, did not show it.
“He must be crazy,” continued John, “or he would know better than to try keeping school here. I don’t believe he knows much.”
“I guess he knows enough to teach you,” said Alfred Clinton, who had taken a fancy to the new teacher, and felt like defending him.
“Speak for yourself, Alfred Clinton,” said John, superciliously. “I’m reading Cæsar.”
He drew himself up, as he spoke, in a way intended to impress the boys that one who was reading Cæsar must be a very advanced Latin scholar.
“I know it,” said Alfred, “but I shouldn’t think you understood it very well, the way you recite.”
“You’re not qualified to judge,” said John, in a lofty tone. “You’re only a beginner in Latin. You don’t know enough to criticise one who studies Cæsar.”