"Here I am, pop!" he exclaimed as he tossed his books upon his couch and
threw his cap to the opposite side of the room. "Old Splinter stuck me
good this morning, but I can stand it as long as you are here."

"Who is Splinter?"

"Why, don't you know? I thought everybody knew Splinter. He's our
professor of Greek and the biggest fraud in the whole faculty."

"What's the trouble with him?" Mr. Phelps spoke quietly but there was
something in his voice that betrayed a deeper feeling and one that Will
was quick to perceive and that gave him a twinge of uneasiness as well.

"Oh, he's hard as nails. He must have 'ichor' in his veins, not blood. I
don't believe he ever was a boy. He must have been like Pallas Athenæ.
Wasn't she the lady that sprang full-fledged from the brain of Zeus?
Well, I've a notion that Splinter yelled in Greek when he was a baby.
That is, if he ever was an infant, and called for his bottle in dactylic
hexameter. Oh, I know lots about Greek, pop," laughed Will as his father
smiled. "I know the alphabet and a whole lot of things even if Splinter
thinks I don't."

"Doesn't he think you know much about your Greek?"

"Well, he doesn't seem to be overburdened with the weight of his opinion
of me. He just looks upon me, I'm afraid, as if I was not a bright and
shining light. 'Learn Greek or grow up in ignorance,' that's the burden
of his song, and I've sometimes thought that about all the fun he has in
life is flunking freshmen."