The fierce soldier of the _petite guerre_
was also a formidable adversary at checkers. Here, however, he became
patient, only moving his pieces after long reflection. None of the
students could beat him, and no one could take him by surprise. If he
was beaten by a professor, he never rested until he had had his revenge.
His power of will was far beyond his years, but it needed to be relaxed.
To study and win to the head of his class was nothing for his lively
intelligence, but his health was always delicate. He would appear
wrapped in cloaks, comforters, waterproof coats, and then vanish into
the infirmary. This boy who did not fear blows, bruises, or falls, was
compelled to avoid draughts and to diet. Nobody ever heard him complain,
nor was any one ever to do so. Often he had to give up work for whole
months at a time; and in his baccalaureate year he was stopped by a
return of the infantile enteritis. "Three months of rest," the doctor
ordered at Christmas. "You will do your rhetoric over again next year,"
said his father, who came to take him home. "Not at all," said the boy;
"the boys shall not get ahead of me"--a childish boast which passed
unnoticed.
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