“Don’t you see Mr. Barclay, John?” said his father.
John nodded carelessly, for he thought the teacher of a country school, earning a salary of forty dollars a month, out of which he had to pay his board, by no means his equal in the social scale; and financially speaking, certainly, Allen Barclay could make no great pretensions; but he was a gentleman, which John Wall was not, and probably never would be.
“Good-evening, John,” said the teacher.
“Evening,” was all that could be heard in reply.
Considering the manner in which he got on, or rather did not get on, in Latin, John might have supposed that Mr. Barclay had called to speak on the subject to his father; but he was too conceited to think he was doing poorly, and never dreamed that, if he were, the teacher would have the temerity to complain of him.
“John is, I believe, your most advanced pupil, Mr. Barclay,” said General Wall, complacently.
“He is further advanced in Latin than any other,” answered the teacher.
“I referred to that. I am not acquainted with Latin myself, but I consider it a highly important branch of education.”
“A good deal of benefit may be derived from the study, I think,” said Barclay. “But John is not likely to know enough to be of much advantage to him,” was his inward reflection.
“I should be sorry to have John discontinue it, now that he is so far advanced. However, the young man you speak of understands it well, you say.”