is such fine weather for football. What a pity it is that lessons and
play conflict, is it not, Wilson?"

Wilson was too canny to make audible reply, however, and the instructor
proceeded blandly.

"I wonder if Mr. Fernald would postpone recitations until after you
have finished football for the year. I think I'll suggest it to him.
For, really, you know, this sort of thing is only wasting my time; and
yours too, young gentlemen, for you might be out kicking a
leather-covered bag of wind around the ground instead of sitting here
cudgelling your poor brains--eh? Let us say heads, rather. The evidence
is too slight to warrant the use of the first word--cudgelling your
heads, then, trying to 'fake' lessons you've never looked at. I
sympathise with you deeply. I commiserate. I--I am almost moved to
tears. My heart goes out to you, young gentlemen."

Mr. Simkins looked so sad and woebegone that the older boys, who knew
him well, trembled in their shoes. The room was very silent. With Mr.
Simkins the storm was always in proportion to the calm, and the present
calm was indeed portentous. The instructor fought for a moment with his
emotions. Then he sighed.

"Well, until we have permission to discard recitations, I presume we
must go on with them, such as they are." His gaze roved sympathetically
over the class, most of whom showed a strong desire to escape his
attention. Finally, "Edwards," he said softly and, as it seemed to
Steve, maliciously, "let us proceed with the dull and untimely lesson.
Kindly translate the tiresome utterances of this ignorant man who
preferred wisdom and eloquence to athletics and football, Edwards. You
may begin where your--hm--brilliant predecessor regretfully left off.
For the moment, pray, detach your thoughts from the verdant meadows and
the sprightly football, Edwards. And--ah--don't, _please_ don't tell me
that you are not prepared. Somehow that phrase afflicts my ears,
Edwards, and were you to make use of it I should, I fear, be driven
to--ah--strong measures. Now, Edwards, if you will be so kind."

Well, Steve was _not_ prepared, as it happened, but he knew better than
to say so, and, putting on an expression of confidence and pleasure as
though Mr. Simkins had offered him the rarest of privileges, he plunged
bravely into a paragraph of Cicero's Orations. But it was hard going and
he was soon stumbling and hesitating, casting about desperately for
words. A long, deep sigh travelled from