“Maybe not,” said Alfred, “but I know that habeo isn’t of the first conjugation, as you called it in your last recitation.”
“It was only a slip of the tongue. I knew well enough it was the third,” returned John, not quite liking the turn the conversation had taken.
“Indeed, that’s news,” said Alfred, quietly. “I always supposed it was the second.”
“That’s what I meant,” said John, coloring. “But I don’t care to continue the conversation. I feel sure that the new teacher don’t know much.”
“I think he will know enough to teach either of us,” said Alfred.
John pursed up his mouth, and was silent. He regarded Alfred, who was the son of a poor widow, as far below him in social position, and did not often condescend to exchange as many words with him as at present. Indeed, John looked upon himself as superior in social rank to any of his schoolmates, but was condescending enough to associate with the sons of the leading men on terms of equality.
Just then up came Phineas Morton, who has already been referred to as a young man of twenty, and standing six feet in his stockings. He was several inches taller, and necessarily much stronger, than Walter, but, fortunately, he was very good-natured, and of a very different disposition from Peter Groot.
“Good-morning, boys,” he said, pleasantly; “hasn’t the master come yet?”
“Not yet,” said Peter. “I guess he don’t feel in any hurry.”
“Why not?”