to me enough times."

Bob did not reply.

"Well?"

"I don't think it is a straight thing for me to translate your Latin
for you every day, Van," he said at last. "You ought not to ask me
to do it."

"I know it; it's mighty low down--I acknowledge that," answered Van
frankly. "But what would you have me do? Flunk it? Come on. I'll get
it myself next time."

"That's what you always say, Van, but you never do."

"But I tell you I will. This week I've been so rushed with the Glee
Club rehearsals I couldn't do a thing. But you wait and view yours
truly next week."

Reluctantly Bob took up his Caesar and opened it.

"That's a gentleman, Bobbie. Some time when you're drowning I'll
throw a plank to you. I knew you'd save my life."

"I do not approve of doing it at all," Bob observed, still searching
for the place in the much worn brown text-book. "I've done about all
your studying this term."

"I own it, oh Benefactor. Are you not my brain--my intellectual