"There, I guess that will do for to-night. My eyes are tired."
"So are mine," added Sid. "I'm going to kiss this Latin prose good-night and put it to bed," and he threw the book under his cot. "Pleasant dreams," he added sarcastically. "Gee! but I hate Latin," he exclaimed.
"Why do you take it?"
"Oh, dad thinks I'll need it. I'd a heap sight rather learn to play the banjo."
"Not much comparison there, Sid."
"No, but don't mention comparison. That reminds me of grammar, and grammar reminds me of verbs, and verbs naturally bring to mind declension, and—there you are. Let's talk about something pleasant."
"What do you call pleasant?"
"Well, baseball, for instance, though maybe that isn't very pleasant for you, since you didn't make the first team."
"No," admitted Tom frankly, "it isn't pleasant to think about. I did want to get on the first team and I may yet. But I've learned one thing since coming here."
"That's good. Maybe I'd better call up Moses and tell him. He'll feel encouraged that some of the students are progressing."
"No, I wouldn't advise you to do that," spoke Tom with a laugh that showed his white, even
