"What 's the matter? Is your lesson too hard for you?" she asked
one evening, as a groan made her look across the table to where
Tom sat scowling over a pile of dilapidated books, with his hands
in his hair, as if his head was in danger of flying asunder with the
tremendous effort he was making.
"Hard! Guess it is. What in thunder do I care about the old
Carthaginians? Regulus was n't bad; but I 'm sick of him!" And
Tom dealt "Harkness's Latin Reader" a thump, which expressed his
feelings better than words.
"I like Latin, and used to get on well when I studied it with Jimmy.
Perhaps I can help you a little bit," said Polly, as Tom wiped his
hot face and refreshed himself with a peanut.
"You? pooh! girls' Latin don't amount to much anyway," was the
grateful reply.
But Polly was used to him now, and, nothing daunted, took a look
at the grimy page in the middle of which Tom had stuck. She read
it so well, that the young gentleman stopped munching to regard
her with respectful astonishment, and when she stopped, he said,
suspiciously, "You are a sly one, Polly, to study up so you can
show off before me.
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