shined. There--"

"Who is Horace!" asked Clint dejectedly.

"Mr. Daley; modern languages; you have him in French. Well, there was a
notice stuck on the wall across the place. It was in Greek and I
couldn't make anything out of it at all and I asked Horace what it said.
Of course he just read it right off, with a mere passing glance; did he
not? Yes, he did not! He hemmed and hawed and muttered and finally said
he couldn't make out the second word. I told him that was my trouble,
too. Then we asked the Greek that runs the place and he told us it said
that shines on Sundays and holidays were ten cents. Of course, Horace
isn't a specialist in Greek, but still he's been through college, and
what I say is--"

"I don't believe the men who wrote the stuff really understood it," said
Clint.

"Oh, they understood a little of it, all right. They could sign their
names, probably. The only consolation I find is this, Clint. A couple of
hundred years from now, when everyone is talking Esperanto or some other
universal language, the kids will have to study English. Can't you see
them grinding over the Orations of William Jennings Bryan and wondering
why the dickens anyone ever wanted to talk such a silly language? That's
when we get our revenge, Clint. We won't be around to see it, but it'll
be there."

Clint had to smile at the picture Amy drew, but he didn't find as much
consolation as Amy pretended to, and Xenophon didn't come any easier. He
was heartily glad when the study-hour came to an end and he could