those who could read and understand him.

His name was Frank Courtney, and he is the hero of my story.

"Have you written your Latin exercises, Frank?" asked Herbert.

"Yes; I finished them an hour ago."

"I was going to ask you to write them with me. It is pleasanter to
study in company."

"Provided you have the right sort of company," rejoined Frank.

"Am I the right sort of company?" inquired Herbert, with a smile.

"You hardly need to ask that, Herbert. Are we not always together? If I
did not like your company, I should not seek it so persistently. I don't
care to boast, but I have plenty of offers of companionship which I
don't care to accept. There is Bob Stickney, for instance, who is always
inviting me to his room; but you know what he is--a lazy fellow, who
cares more to have a good time than to study. Then there is James
Cameron, a conceited, empty-headed fellow, who is very disagreeable to
me."

"You don't mention your stepbrother, Mark Manning."

"For two reasons--he doesn't care for my company, and of all the boys I
dislike him the most."

"I don't like him myself. But why do you dislike him so much?"