"Suffered! why, what did he suffer?" said Holloway, upon whose memory the sufferings of others made no very deep impression. "Oh, ay, true--you mean he was flogged: more shame for him!--why did not he mind and get his lesson better?" "I had not time to understand it rightly," said Oliver, with a deep sigh; "and I don't think I shall have time to-day either." "More shame for you," repeated Holloway: "I'll lay any bet on earth, I get all you have to get in three minutes." "Ah, you, to be sure," said Oliver, in a tone of great humiliation; "but then you know what a difference there is between you and me." Holloway misunderstood him; and, thinking he meant to allude to the difference in their age, instead of the difference of their abilities, answered sharply, "When I was your age, do you think I was such a dunce as you are, pray?" "No, that I am sure you never were," said Oliver; "but perhaps you had some good father or mother, or somebody, who taught you a little before you came to school." "I don't remember any thing about that," replied Holloway; "I don't know who was so good as to teach me, but I know I was so good as to learn fast enough, which is a goodness, I've a notion, some folks will never have to boast of--so trot, and fetch the bowl for me, do you hear, and set up the nine-pins. You've sense enough to do that, have not you? and as for your lesson, I'll drive that into your head by and by, if I can," added he, rapping with his knuckles upon the little boy's head. "As to my lesson," said the boy, putting aside his head from the insulting knuckles, "I had rather try and make it out by myself, if I can." "If you can!" repeated Holloway, sneering; "but we all know you can't." "Why can't he, Holloway?" exclaimed Howard, with a raised voice, for he was no longer master of his indignation. "Why can't he?" repeated Holloway, looking round upon Howard, with a mixture of surprise and insolence. "You must answer that question yourself, Howard: I say he can't." "And I say he can, and he shall," replied Howard; "and he _shall_ have time to learn: he's willing, and, I'll answer for it, able to learn; and he shall not be called a dunce; and he shall have time; and he shall have justice." "Shall! shall! shall!" retorted Holloway, vociferating with a passion of a different sort from Howard's. "Pray, sir, who allowed you to say shall to me? and how dare you to talk in this _here_ style to me about justice?--and what business have you, I should be glad to know, to interfere between me and my fag? What right have you to him, or his time either? And if I choose to call him a dunce forty times a day, what then? he is a dunce, and he will be a dunce to the end of his days, I say, and who is there thinks proper to contradict me?" "I," said Howard, firmly; "and I'll do more than contradict you--I'll prove that you are mistaken. Oliver, bring your book to me."