He passed around to his regular place, disposed his books and papers, and placed his _Silence_ sign in a fairly conspicuous position. This followed his usual custom. Yet his manner of making his arrangements to-night wanted something of his ordinary aggressive confidence. In fact, his promise to give an hour a day to exercise lay on his heart like lead, and the lumps on his eye, large though they were, did not in the least represent the dimensions of the fall he had received at the hands of Mr. Pat. Fifi was looking a little more fragile than when we saw her last, a little more thin-cheeked, a shade more ethereal-eyed. Her cough was quite bad to-night, and this increased her nervousness. How could she _help_ from disturbing him with that dry tickling going on right along in her throat? It had been a trying day, when everything seemed to go wrong from the beginning. She had waked up feeling very listless and tired; had been late for school; had been kept in for Cicero. In the afternoon she had been going to a tea given to her class at the school, but her mother said her cold was too bad for her to go, and besides she really felt too tired. She hadn't eaten any supper, and had been quite cross with her mother in their talk about the dining-room, which was the worst thing that had happened at all. And now at nine o'clock she wanted to go to bed, but her algebra would not, _would not_ come right, and life was horrible, and she was unfit to live it anyway, and she wished she was ... "You are crying," stated a calm young voice across the table. Brought up with a cool round turn, greatly mortified, Fifi thought that the best way to meet the emergency was just to say nothing. "What is the matter?" demanded the professorial tones. "Oh, nothing," she said, winking back the tears and trying to smile, apologetically--"just silly reasons. I--I've spent an hour and ten minutes on a problem here, and it won't come right. I'm--sorry I disturbed you." There was a brief silence. Mr. Queed cleared his throat. "You cannot solve your problem?" "I haven't _yet_," she sniffed bravely, "but of course I will _soon_. Oh, I understand it very well...." She kept her eyes stoutly fixed upon her book, which indicated that not for worlds would she interrupt him further. Nevertheless she felt his large spectacles upon her. And presently he astonished her by saying, resignedly--doubtless he had decided that thus could the virginal calm be most surely and swiftly restored:-- "Bring me your book. I will solve your problem." "Oh!" said Fifi, choking down a cough. And then, "Do you know all about algebra, too?" It seemed that Mr. Queed in his younger days had once made quite a specialty of mathematics, both lower, like Fifi's, and also far higher. The child's polite demurs were firmly overridden. Soon she was established in a chair at his side, the book open on the table between them. "Indicate the problem," said Mr. Queed.