Simkins took him back into his good graces. "Ha, Thayer," he said, "you
lead me to suspect that you spent a little time on your lesson last
evening. I am not doing you an injustice, Thayer?"

"No, sir, I put in two hours on it."

"Marvellous! Is there any other member of the class who wasted
so much of his time in such manner? Raise your hands, please.
One--two--three--Burgess, you hesitate, do you not? Ah, I thought so!
You were merely going to scratch your head. Wise youth, Burgess. Scratch
hard. Set up a circulation if possible. Hm. That will do, Thayer.
Burgess, if it is not asking too much--"

Unfortunately--or perhaps fortunately--Clint's showing on this occasion
was accepted by Mr. Simkins as a standard to which future performances
were required to conform. "What has been done once may be done again,
Thayer," he would inform him. And Clint, not being able to deny the
logic of this statement, was forced to toil harder than ever. But there
came a time, though it was not yet, when he found that his difficulties
were lessening, that an hour accomplished what it had taken two to
accomplish before; and that, in short, Greek, while not a study to
enthuse over, had lost most of its terrors. But all that, as I say, came
later, and for many weeks yet "Uncle Sim" pursued Clint in his dreams
and the days when he had a Greek recitation were dreaded ones.

The afternoon following that on which he had absented himself from
practice saw Clint approaching the field at three-thirty with
misgivings. He feared that Coach Robey would remember his defection
against him and at the same time he knew that he would feel flattered if
the coach did! The question was soon settled, for Clint had no more than