Frank had written out the list of promotions into the twenty-two when David came to his study with a copy of “Œdipus Coloneus,” which was his lesson for next day, and he pushed it over to him. “I’ve stuck you in first,” he said, “to prepare for your appearance next Saturday. Now we’ll leave the silly business alone. What’s your work? ‘Œdipus Coloneus’?” “Yes; twenty-five lines of a chorus that’s simply beastly,” said David, finding his place. “There; line 668.” Frank looked over his shoulder. “Oh, it’s not without merit,” he said. “Now look out every word you don’t know, and then try to make something of it for half an hour. After that, I’ll give you a construe. No talking.” “Oh, won’t you construe it first?” asked David. “It’ll save me a lot of trouble.” “And did you suppose I wanted to save you trouble?” asked Frank. David sighed. “Thought you might,” he said. “It’s rather flat working after this afternoon.” “No, it isn’t. You’ve got to learn that people like Sophocles matter more than any silly house-match.” “’Twasn’t a silly house-match,” said David. “Don’t talk!” David looked round. “Lend me your dictionary, then,” he said. “I’ve left mine in my study.” David had a very vivid sense of the beauty of words, and though it took him some time to whistle his mind away from the splendours of the afternoon and from the glories of that list that lay on the table, which would soon be displayed before the eyes of the entire school, he became conscious before long that the words of the “beastly chorus” which was open before him were beautiful things, and that their meanings, so his dictionary told him, were beautiful also, for it was all about horses, and nightingales, and thickets, and ivy the colour of wine—this was rather puzzling unless perhaps it meant _crème de menthe_—and clustering narcissus. Then by degrees he became absorbed in it, and all the time was slightly ashamed at being able to be interested in a mere Greek chorus, when his name lay on the table as heading the list of promotions into the twenty-two. But his absorption gained on him. “Why, it’s ripping!” he said to himself under his breath, and, whistling softly, hunted up another jewel of a word. Then he lost himself again, diving into wonderful translucent depths. “Gosh! I’ve done more than twenty-five lines,” he said at length, “and I never noticed. I say, give me a construe, Frank; I’ve been more than half an hour. I want to hear how it sounds in English.” Frank drew his chair up to David’s, so that they could both share the same book. “Right oh,” he said, “but let me read it through first.” This was the education of David, and Frank was tremendously anxious to construe the beautiful passage well, and he took some five minutes more going over it, while David’s glance fed on the list of the twenty-two promotions. Then he began. “Stranger,” he said. “Blast it; that won’t do: it sounds American.” “Guest?” suggested David.