“How is it possible, Holloway, that the boy can get his lesson, if you interrupt him every instant?”
“Pooh! what signifies his foolish lesson?”
“It signifies a great deal to him,” replied Howard: “you know what he suffered this morning because he had not learned it.”
“Suffered! why, what did he suffer?” said Holloway, upon whose memory the sufferings of others made no very deep impression. “Oh, ay, true—you mean he was flogged: more shame for him!—why did not he mind and get his lesson better?”
“I had not time to understand it rightly,” said Oliver, with a deep sigh; “and I don’t think I shall have time to-day either.”
“More shame for you,” repeated Holloway: “I’ll lay any bet on earth, I get all you have to get in three minutes.”
“Ah, you, to be sure,” said Oliver, in a tone of great humiliation; “but then you know what a difference there is between you and me.”
Holloway misunderstood him; and, thinking he meant to allude to the difference in their age, instead of the difference of their abilities, answered sharply,
“When I was your age, do you think I was such a dunce as you are, pray?”
“No, that I am sure you never were,” said Oliver; “but perhaps you had some good father or mother, or somebody, who taught you a little before you came to school.”