He was rather a showy boy, and learned easily. He might have stood a
class above where he was, if he had not been lazy, and depended too much
on his natural talent. As it was, he maintained the foremost rank in his
class.

"Better be the first man in a village than the second man in Rome,"
he used to say; and as his present position not only gave him the
pre-eminence which he desired, but cost him very little exertion to
maintain, he was quite well satisfied with it.

This boy stood first in his class, while Paul entered at the foot.

He laughed unmercifully at the frequent mistakes of our hero, and
jeeringly dubbed him, "Young Stupid."

"Do you know what Dawkins calls you?" asked one of the boys.

"No. What does he call me?" asked Paul, seriously.

"He calls you 'Young Stupid.'"

Paul's face flushed painfully. Ridicule was as painful to him as it is
to most boys, and he felt the insult deeply.

"I'd fight him if I were you," was the volunteered advice of his
informant.

"No," said Paul. "That wouldn't mend the matter. Besides, I don't know
but he has some reason for thinking so."