“Ah!” said Mr Warton, taking out his watch, “I see time’s up. We’ve had more Syntax than Caesar to-day. Never mind, it’s a point worth remarking, and sure to be useful as you get on in Latin. The class is dismissed.”
Little he knew the joy his words carried to two small hearts in his audience.
“Jolly good luck that!” said Parson, as he strolled out into the passage arm-in-arm with his friend. “Now if I can only get those beastly verbs done before Coates asks for them! I say, Telson, do you know the dodge for sticking three nibs on one pen and writing three lines all at one time?”
“Tried it once,” said Telson, “but it didn’t pay. It took longer to keep sticking them in when they fell out, and measuring them to write on the lines, than to write the thing twice over the ordinary way. I’ll write out part, old man.”
“Thanks, Telson, you’re an awful brick. I suppose Riddell wouldn’t think it wicked of you to write another fellow’s impot, would he?”
“I half fancy he would; but I won’t tell him. Hullo! though, here comes Coates.”
A monitor wearing his “mortar-board” approached.
“Where’s your imposition, Parson?” he asked.
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Parson, “but it’s not quite done yet, Coates.”
“How much is done?” demanded Coates.