“Dear me,” said Tom, “I quite forgot. I really beg your pardon, Captain Hardy; and he put down the lemon he was squeezing, and produced a box of cigars.
“It's all Jack's nonsense, sir,” said the Captain, holding out his hand, nevertheless, for the box.
“Now, father, don't be absurd,” interrupted Hardy, snatching the box away from him. “You might as well give him a glass of absinthe. He is church-warden at home and can't smoke anything but a long clay.”
“I'm very sorry I haven't one here, but I can send out in a minute.” And Tom was making for the door to shout for Wiggins.
“No, don't call. I'll fetch some from my rooms.”
When Hardy left the room, Tom squeezed away at his lemon, and was preparing himself for a speech to Captain Hardy full of confession and gratitude. But the Captain was before him, and led the conversation into a most unexpected channel.
“I suppose, now, Mr. Brown,” he began, “you don't find any difficulty in construing your Thucydides?”
“Indeed, I do, sir,” said Tom, laughing. “I find him a very tough old customer, except in the simplest narrative.”
“For my part,” said the Captain, “I can't get on at all, I find, without a translation. But you see, sir, I had none of the advantages which you young men have up here. In fact, Mr. Brown, I didn't begin Greek till Jack was nearly ten years old.” The Captain in his secret heart was prouder of his partial victory over the Greek tongue in his old age, than of his undisputed triumphs over the French in his youth, and was not averse to talking of it.
“I wonder that you ever began it at all, sir,” said Tom.