_stud. lit. et art._

Which means _studiosus litterarum et artium_, a devotee of letters and
fine arts.

Old Fottner was proud of his son, on whom a faint reflection of his
future dignity already rested, who was invited to dinner by the priest,
took walks with the Vicar, and played tarot with the teacher and the
chief of the constabulary.

And the Bridge Farmer was satisfied, too, even though he occasionally
found the expenditures of his young protege somewhat large. But he said
nothing, fearing that the latter might still lie down in the traces if
he put too little oats before him.

So Matt spent a merry vacation, and marched back to Freising in October
with renewed strength.

Unfortunately he was destined to fall on evil days. The master of the
fifth form was a disagreeable man: strict and very caustic and
sarcastic to boot.

The first time he saw this sky-scraping farmer lad, who did look queer
enough on the school benches, he laughed and asked him whether he
towered equally high above his fellow pupils in intellect. That this
was not the case could not remain a secret, and then the bantering
never ceased. At first the teacher really tried to strike sparks out of
this stone; but when he found he could not, he soon enough gave up all
hope.

Matthew Fottner made no objection at all when they no longer consulted
his opinion on the Gallic War or Caius Julius Caesar, and conjugated
the Greek verbs without his cooperation.

He laughed good-humoredly when every word in his exercises was
underscored with red, and he marveled at the ambition of the little
fellows before and beside him, disputing as to whether something was
right or wrong.

But to be sure, given such a point of view, the end was easy to
foresee, and in August the Bridge Farmer faced the same choice as two
years before, whether or not to maintain his confidence in the Fottner
youth.

That is, he really no longer had any choice, for now, after six years,
he could not very well begin a new experiment with somebody else.

So he comforted himself with the reflection that a good horse pulls
twice, and swallowed his bitter pill.

Doubtless he did make a wry face over it, and his joy of Matt had
become diminished by a good bit; grave doubts began to stir in his
heart as to whether a _bona fide_ priest could be made out of this
gawky Goliath.

But his bad humor was not contagious, at least not for Mr. Matthew
Fottner.

The latter