Creative Books

"You may have another go at it any, time you like," generously
remarked Tom, as he shied the algebra after the Latin Reader.
"I 'll come every evening, then. I 'd like to, for I have n't studied a
bit since I came. You shall try and make me like algebra, and I 'll
try and make you like Latin, will you?"
"Oh, I 'd like it well enough, if there was any one explain it to me.
Old Deane puts us through double-quick, and don't give a fellow
time to ask questions when we read."
"Ask your father; he knows."
"Don't believe he does; should n't dare to bother him, if he did."
"Why not?"
"He 'd pull my ears, and call me a 'stupid,' or tell me not to worry
him."
"I don't think he would. He 's very kind to me, and I ask lots of
questions."
"He likes you better than he does me."
"Now, Tom! it 's wrong of you to say so. Of course he loves you
ever so much more than he does me," cried Polly, reprovingly.
"Why don't he show it then?" muttered Tom, with a half-wistful,
half-defiant glance toward the library door, which stood ajar.


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