I've never really flunked, but I've been so on the ragged edge of
going under so many times that it's no fun."

"Cheer up! You'll get through. Why, man alive, you've got to. Now
come on and get at this Latin and afterward we'll pitch into the
plum-cake."

"What do you say we pitch into the cake first?"

"No, sir. Not a bite of cake will you get until you have done your
Caesar. Come on, Van, like a good kid, and have it over; then we'll
eat and talk about Allenville."

Once more Bob opened the book.

"Here we are! You've got to do it, Van, and to-morrow you'll be glad
that you did. Stop fooling with that paper and bring your chair
round this side of the desk. Begin here: _Cum Caesar esset_--"

Persistently Bob followed each line of the lesson down the page,
translating and explaining as he went, and ungraciously Van Blake
listened.

The little brass clock on the mantelpiece ticked noisily, and the
late afternoon sun that streamed in through the windows lighted into
scarlet the crimson wall-paper and threw into prominence the posters
tacked upon it. It was a cozy room with its deep rattan chairs and
pillow-strewn couch. Snow-shoes, fencing foils, boxing-gloves, and
tennis racquets littered the corners, and on every side a general
air of boyish untidiness prevailed.