THE high-school boy Gregory Ziboroff condescendingly shakes hands with little Pete Udodoff. Pete, a chubby youngster of twelve with bristlinng hair, red cheeks, and a low forehead, dressed in a little grey suit, bows and scrapes, and reaches into the cupboard for his books. The lesson begins.
According to an agreement made with Udodoff, the
father, Ziboroff is to help Pete with his lessons for two
hours each day, in return for which he is to receive six
roubles a month. He is preparing the boy for the
second grade of the high-school. He prepared him for
the first grade last year, but little Pete failed to pass
his examinations.
"Very well," begins Ziboroff lighting a cigarette. "You had the fourth declension to study. Decline fructus ! "
Peter begins to decline it.
"There, you haven't studied again!" cries Ziboroff
rising. "This is the sixth time I have given you the
fourth declension to learn, and you can't get it through
your head ! For heaven's sake, when will you ever
begin to study your lessons?"
"What, you haven't studied again?" exclaims a
wheezing voice in the next room and Pete's papa, a
retired civil servant, enters. "Why haven't you
studied ? Oh, you little donkey ! Just think, Gregory, I had to thrash him again yesterday !"
Sighing profoundly, Udodoff sits down beside his
son and opens the boy's ragged grammar. Ziboroff
begins examining Pete before his father, thinking to
himself: "I'll just show that stupid father what a
stupid son he has ! " The high-school boy is seized with
the fury of the examiner and is ready to beat the little
red-cheeked numskull before him, he hates and
despises him so. He is even annoyed when the youngster
hits on the right answer to one of his questions. How
odious this little Pete seems to him !
"You don't even know the second declension ! You
don't even know the first ! This is the way you learn
your lessons ! Come, tell me, what is the vocative of
meus filius.?"
"The vocative of meus filius? Why the vocative
of meus filius is—it is—"
Pete stares hard at the ceiling and moves his lips
inaudibly. No answer comes.
"What is the dative of dea?"
"Deabus—filiabus!" Pete bursts out.
Old Udodoff nods approvingly. The high-school
boy, who was not expecting a correct answer, feels annoyed.
"What other nouns have their dative in abus?" he asks.
It appears that anima, the soul, has its dative in abus, something that is not to be found in any grammar.
"What a melodious language Latin is!" observes
Udodoff. "Alontron—bonus—anthropos—how marvellous ! It is all very important !" he concludes with a sigh.
"The old brute is interrupting the lesson," thinks
Ziboroff. "Sitting over us like an inspector—I hate
to be bossed! Now, then!" he cries to Pete. "You
must learn that same lesson over again for next time. Next we'll do some arithmetic. Fetch your slate ! I want you to do this problem."
Pete spits on his slate and rubs it dry with his
sleeve. His tutor picks up the arithmetic and dictates
the following problem to him.
"'If a merchant buys 138 yards of cloth, some of
which is black and some blue, for 540 roubles, how
many yards of each did he buy if the blue cloth cost
5 roubles a yard and the black cloth 3 ?' Repeat what
I have just said."
Peter repeats the problem and instantly and silently
begins to divide 540 by 138.
"What are you doing ? Wait a moment ! No, no, go ahead ! Is there a remainder ? There ought not to be. Here, let me do it ! "
Ziboroff divides 540 by 138, and finds that it goes
three times and something over. He quickly rubs out
the sum.
"How queer !" he thinks, ruffling his hair and
flushing. "How should it be done? H'm—this is an
indeterminate equation and not a sum in arithmetic at all—"
The tutor looks in the back of the book and finds
that the answer is 75 and 63.
"H'm—that's queer. Ought I to add 5 and 3 and
divide 540 by 8? Is that right? No that's not it. Come, do the sum !" he says to Pete.
"What's the matter with you? That's an easy
problem!" cries Udodoff to Peter. "What a goose
you are, sonny ! Do it for him, Mr. Ziboroff !"
Gregory takes the pencil and begins figuring. He
hiccoughs and flushes and pales.