Then he patted me on the cheeks.
"Bonus, bonus."
His addressing me in Latin had two advantages; firstly, as I could not speak German, nor he Magyar, this use of a neutral tongue removed all suspicions of our being deaf and dumb; secondly, it at once inspired me with a genuine respect for the honest fellow, who had dabbled in the sciences, and had, beyond his technical knowledge of his own business, some acquaintance with the language of Cicero. Mr. Fromm made room for grandmother and Lorand to pass before him up a narrow stone staircase, while he kept his hand continuously on my head, as if that were the part of me by which he could best hold me.
"Veni puer. Hic puer secundus, filius meus."
So there was a boy in the house, a new terror for me.
"Est studiosus."
What, that boy! That was good news: we could go to school together.
"Meus filius magnus asinus."
That was a fine acknowledgment from a father.
"Nescit pensum nunquam scit."