Quicksilver Part 53

"I believe it's sheer obstinacy. You do not want to do these equations--simple equations too, mind you! Now then, about the stage-coaches. When did they meet, and in what time from starting? Now then--there are your figures, where did they meet? Look and tell me."

Dexter took the half-sheet of paper, stared at it very doubtfully, and then looked up.

"Well!" said Mr Limpney. "Where did they meet?"

"Peterborough, sir."

"Where!" cried Mr Limpney in astonishment.

"Peterborough, sir."

"Now, will you have the goodness to tell me how you found out that?"

"On the map, sir."

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the tutor. "Well, go on. At what time from starting!"

"About ten o'clock, sir."

"Better and better," said the tutor sarcastically. "Now, will you kindly explain--no, no, don't look at your figures--Will you kindly explain how you arrived at this sapient conclusion?"

Dexter hesitated, and s.h.i.+fted one foot over the other.

"Well, sir, I am waiting," cried Mr Limpney, in a tone of voice which made Dexter think very much resembled that of Mr Sibery when he was angry.

"I--I--"

"Don't hesitate, sir. Have I not told you again and again that a gentleman never hesitates, but speaks out at once? Now then, I ask you how you arrived at this wonderful conclusion?"

"I tried over and over again, sir, with the _a's_ and _b's_, and then I thought I must guess it."

"And did you guess it?"

"No, sir, I suddenly recollected what you said."

"And pray, what did I say!"

"Why, sir, you always said let _x_ represent the unknown quant.i.ty, and-- and _x_ stands for ten--ten o'clock."

Mr Limpney s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper from the boy's hand, and was about to tear it up, when the door opened and Dr Grayson entered.

"Well," he said pleasantly, "and how are we getting on?"

"Getting on, sir?" said Mr Limpney tartly. "Will you have the goodness to ask my pupil!"

"To be sure--to be sure," said the doctor. "Well, Dexter, how are you getting on? Eh? what's this? Oh, Algebra!" he continued, as he took the half-sheet of paper covered with the boy's calligraphy. "Oh, Algebra! Hah! I never was much of a fist at that."

"Only simple equations, sir," said the tutor.

"Ah, yes. Simple equations. Well, Dexter, how are you getting on?"

"Very badly, sir."

"Badly? Nonsense!"

"But I am, sir. These things puzzle me dreadfully. I'm so stupid."

"Stupid? Nonsense! Nothing of the kind. Scarcely anybody is stupid.

Men who can't understand some things understand others. Now, let's see.

What is the question? H'm! ah! yes, oranges. H'm! ah! yes; not difficult, I suppose, when you know how. And--what's this? London and York--stage-coaches. Nine and a half miles, nine and a quarter miles, and--er--h'm, yes, of course, where would they meet?"

"Peterborough, sir," said Mr Limpney sarcastically, and with a peculiar look at Dexter.

"H'm! would they now?" said the doctor. "Well, I shouldn't have thought it! And how is he getting on with his Latin, Mr Limpney!"

"Horribly, sir!" exclaimed the tutor sharply. "I am very glad you have come, for I really feel it to be my duty to complain to you of the great want of diligence displayed by my pupil."

"Dear me! I am very sorry," exclaimed the doctor. "Why, Dexter, my boy, how's this? You promised me that you would be attentive."

"Yes, sir, I did."

"Then why are you not attentive?"

"I do try to be, sir."

"But if you were, Mr Limpney would not have cause to complain. It's too bad, Dexter, too bad. Do you know why Mr Limpney comes here?"

"Yes, sir," said the boy dismally; "to teach me."

"And you do not take advantage of his teaching. This is very serious.

Very sad indeed."

"I am sure, Dr Grayson, that no tutor could have taken more pains than I have to impart to him the various branches of a liberal education; but after all these months of teaching it really seems to me that we are further behind. He is not a dull boy."

"Certainly not. By no means," said the doctor.

"And I do not give him tasks beyond his powers."

"I hope not, I am sure," said the doctor.

"And yet not the slightest progress is made. There is only one explanation, sir, and that is want of diligence."

"Dear me! dear me! dear me!" exclaimed the doctor. "Now, Dexter, what have you to say?"

"Nothing, sir!" said the boy sadly; "only I think sometimes that my brains must be too wet."

"Good gracious! boy: what do you mean!"

"I mean too wet and slippery, sir, so that they will not hold what I put into them."