"Last night, sir, I wrote out a translation of the lines in _De Finibus_ that you assigned us for this afternoon. I--wished to know if I could do so without aid. I mean, sir--Ru hath helped me often at other times, being swifter at these things, so I--so I didn't tell him of it. And if it be satisfactory, Mr. Hibbs, may I go to Boston this afternoon?" Mr. Hibbs stared at the paper Ben handed him, like a man hit by a chunk of firewood. "Done without aid, ha?" "It was, sir. I even waited till Ru was asleep, for fear I'd give up and ask him for help after all." Reuben gazed deeply into the swirling black midgets that had been the text of Ovid; he instructed himself: _It doesn't matter. It does not matter. Seeing that he will go--_ "No objection," Mr. Hibbs was saying vacantly--"no objection to the two of you helping each other: I expect it and you profit by it, but I can see, I understand, Benjamin, I--uh--commend your industry and the sentiment that must have prompted it." His voice trailed away under the threat of another sneeze, and Reuben knew that he must speak. "It's quite true, Mr. Hibbs. I knew nothing of it till just now." _Was that good enough? Did I snarl, or squeak?..._ "Of course. This translation is--not bad, Benjamin. Some errors, but nothing that cannot be caught up--uh--tomorrow. I'm assuming your great-uncle hath nothing against it, or you would mention it, being"--the sneeze arrived and passed on--"being an honorable boy. Yes, you may have the afternoon. No precedent, of course." "I understand that, sir, and thank you." There was grammar, there was logic, there were Greek verbs, there was in the air a warm premonition of luncheon. Mr. Hibbs tucked his books under his arm and marched upstairs, where he would allow himself a five-minute meditation before the meal. He was willing to explain this exercise without embarrassment. It was not the same as prayer, but a contemplation of nothing, a device for clearing his mind of trivia in the hope of perceiving a moment of truth.... "Ru, why don't you come too? You could easy catch up the work if he gives you the afternoon, and he would--for all his barking you know you can twist him any way you please." "No, bub," said Reuben lightly--but he was afraid to look up from his desk at the puzzled kindness he knew he would see. "There'll be a tag end of the afternoon when Pontifex hath done his worst, and I--wish to do something else." "Something else?" "Oh, I--nothing too important." Ben looked hurt. "About the Cicero--haven't I leaned on thee too much, Ru? I never did think to wound thee, doing that." "I'm not wounded! I"--_careful, Ru Cory!_--"I commend your industry." "Ru!" "I'm sorry. About this afternoon--you remember Mr. Welland?" "Welland? Oh, the doctor?" "Yes, I--he knows so much--I met him by chance the other day, when you was in Boston----"