Deering of Deal; Or, The Spirit of the School — John Shaqi
Deering of Deal; Or, The Spirit of the SchoolGriswold, Latta
History
Deering of Deal; Or, The Spirit of the School
Griswold, Latta
Boys -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- Juvenile fiction
Tony stood for a moment, a trifle disconcerted. He was a little at loss
to know what might be the etiquette of such an occasion. “I say,” he
blurted out at last, “I think you might put that book down and tell a
fellow a thing or two.”
Carroll placed the book on the table at his side, with an air of mild
surprise. “Dear child,” he murmured indulgently, “shall we adopt the
Socratic method?”
Tony flushed. “What is the Socratic method?”
“You ask questions; I answer—a few of them.”
“I don’t know that I have any particular questions to ask. I supposed
we might find something to say if we tried hard enough. However, if
you will tell me in which room I am to sleep, and at what hour we are
expected to get up, I think I can get on without troubling you any
further.”
“As to the first of your enquiries,” the long languid youth replied,
“as I happen to have the advantage of being in the Fourth, and to
have arrived a day earlier than you upon the scene of action, I have
chosen the larger one to the right, which is protected from the early
morning sun by a trifling angle of the exterior wall. A murderous bell
will assassinate your innocent sleep at seven in the morning. The time
that you arise will be determined by the length of time it takes you
to dress and your estimate of the value of late marks. Breakfast, my
Socrates, is at half-past seven. Are the problems too much for you?”
Tony smiled. “I reckon I can figure them out.”
“You are both tautological and verbose. The single word ‘reckon’ would
have expressed your meaning quite as accurately and not less elegantly.”
“Oh, I don’t go in for elegance.”
Carroll lifted his eyebrows with an air of feigned surprise, and
surveyed Tony for a moment or so with languid interest. When it
appeared that his new acquaintance had nothing further to say, the
older boy leaned his head wearily back upon his chair, and took up his
book again, holding it open with an air of heroic patience.
“I think I’ll turn in,” said Tony at last.
“Ah!” murmured Carroll, “in that case, I may bid you good-night.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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