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Quicksilver; The Boy With No Skid To His Wheel, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 24. The Pleasant Ways Of Learning |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE PLEASANT WAYS OF LEARNING "Now, Master Grayson," said Mr Limpney, "what am I to say to the doctor!" The private tutor threw himself back in his seat in the study, vacated by the doctor, while Dexter had his lessons, placed his hands behind his head, and, after wrinkling his forehead in lines from his brow to right on the top, where the hair began, he stared hard at his pupil. "I say again, sir, what am I to tell the doctor!" "I don't know," said Dexter dolefully. Then, plucking up a little spirit: "I wrote out all my history questions, and did the parsing with a little help from Miss Grayson, and I did the sum you set me all by myself." "Yes; but the Algebra, the Classics, and the Euclid! Where are they?" "There they are," said Dexter, pointing dismally to some books on the table. "Yes, sir, there they are--on that table, when they ought to be in your head." "But they won't go in my head, sir," cried Dexter desperately. "Nonsense, sir! you will not let them, and I warn you plainly, that if we do not make better progress, I shall tell the doctor that I will not continue to take his payment for nothing." "No; I say; don't do that," said Dexter piteously. "He wouldn't like it." "I cannot help that, sir. I have my duty to perform. Anybody can do those childish history and grammatical questions; it is the classical and mathematical lessons in which I wish you to excel. Now, once more. No, no, you must not refer to the book. 'In any right-angled triangle, the square of the side--' Now, go on." Dexter took up a slate and pencil, wrinkled up his forehead as nearly like the tutor's as he could, and slowly drew a triangle. "Very good," said Mr Limpney. "Now, go on." Dexter stared at his sketch, then helplessly at his instructor. "I ought to write _ABC_ here, oughtn't I, sir?" "Yes, of course. Go on." Dexter hesitated, and then put a letter at each corner. "Well, have it that way if you like," said Mr Limpney. "I don't like it that way, sir," said Dexter. "I'll put it your way." "No, no. Go on your way." "But I haven't got any way, sir," said Dexter desperately. "Nonsense, nonsense! Go on." "Please, sir, I can't. I've tried and tried over and over again, but the angles all get mixed up with the sides, and it is all such a muddle. I shall never learn Euclid. Is it any use?" "Is it any use!" cried the tutor scornfully. "Look at me, sir. Has it been any use to me!" Dexter looked at the face before him, and then right up the forehead, and wondered whether learning Euclid had made all the hair come off the top of his head. "Well, go on." "I can't, sir, please," sighed the boy. "I know it's something about squares, and _ABC_, and _BAC_, and _CAB_, and--but you produce the lines." "But you do not produce them, sir," cried Mr Limpney angrily; "nor anything else! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!" "I am," said Dexter innocently. "I'm a dreadfully stupid boy, sir, and I don't think I've got any brains." "Are you going through that forty-seventh problem this morning, sir?" Dexter made a desperate attempt, floundered on a quarter of a minute, and broke down in half. "Tut--tut--tut!" ejaculated Mr Limpney. "I'm sure you have not looked at it since I was here." "That I have, sir," cried Dexter, in a voice full of eager protest. "Hours and hours, sir, I walked up and down the garden with it, and then I took the book up with me into my loft, and made a chalk triangle on the floor, and kept on saying it over and over, but as fast as I said it the words slipped out of my head again. I can't help it, sir, I am so stupid." "Algebra!" said Mr Limpney, in a tone of angry disgust. "Am I not to try and say the Euclid, sir?" "Algebra!" cried Mr Limpney again, and he slapped the table with a thin book. "Now then, where are these simple equations?" Dexter drew a half-sheet of foolscap paper from a folio, and rather shrinkingly placed it before his tutor, who took a pair of spectacles from his pocket, and placed them over his mild-looking eyes. "Let me see," he said, referring to a note-book. "The questions I gave you were: 'A spent 2 shillings and 6 pence in oranges, and says that three of them cost as much under a shilling as nine of them cost over a shilling. How many did he buy?'" Mr Limpney coughed, blew his nose loudly, as if it were a post-horn, and then went on-- "Secondly: 'Two coaches start at the same time for York and London, a distance of 200 miles, travelling one at nine and a half miles an hour, the other at nine and a quarter miles; where will they meet, and in what time from starting?'" He gave his nose a finishing touch with his handkerchief, closed his note-book, and turned to Dexter. "Now then," he said. "Let us see." He took the sheet of paper, looked at one side, turned it over and looked at the other, and then raised his eyes to Dexter's, which avoided his gaze directly. "What is this?" he cried. "The equations, sir," said Dexter humbly. "Tut--tut--tut!" ejaculated Mr Limpney. "Was there ever such a boy? _plus_ where it ought to be _minus_, and--why, what's this!" "This, sir?" said Dexter. "Half-crowns." "But it was to be oranges. How many did he buy? and here you say he bought ninety-seven half-crowns. I don't know how you arrived at it, or what you mean. A man does not go to a shop to buy half-crowns. He spent half a crown in oranges." "Yes, sir." "I believe it's sheer obstinacy. You do not want to do these equations--simple equations too, mind you! Now then, about the stage-coaches. When did they meet, and in what time from starting? Now then--there are your figures, where did they meet? Look and tell me." Dexter took the half-sheet of paper, stared at it very doubtfully, and then looked up. "Well!" said Mr Limpney. "Where did they meet?" "Peterborough, sir." "Where!" cried Mr Limpney in astonishment. "Peterborough, sir." "Now, will you have the goodness to tell me how you found out that?" "On the map, sir." "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the tutor. "Well, go on. At what time from starting!" "About ten o'clock, sir." "Better and better," said the tutor sarcastically. "Now, will you kindly explain--no, no, don't look at your figures--Will you kindly explain how you arrived at this sapient conclusion?" Dexter hesitated, and shifted one foot over the other. "Well, sir, I am waiting," cried Mr Limpney, in a tone of voice which made Dexter think very much resembled that of Mr Sibery when he was angry. "I--I--" "Don't hesitate, sir. Have I not told you again and again that a gentleman never hesitates, but speaks out at once? Now then, I ask you how you arrived at this wonderful conclusion?" "I tried over and over again, sir, with the _a's_ and _b's_, and then I thought I must guess it." "And did you guess it?" "No, sir, I suddenly recollected what you said." "And pray, what did I say!" "Why, sir, you always said let _x_ represent the unknown quantity, and-- and _x_ stands for ten--ten o'clock." Mr Limpney snatched the paper from the boy's hand, and was about to tear it up, when the door opened and Dr Grayson entered. "Well," he said pleasantly, "and how are we getting on?" "Getting on, sir?" said Mr Limpney tartly. "Will you have the goodness to ask my pupil!" "To be sure--to be sure," said the doctor. "Well, Dexter, how are you getting on? Eh? what's this? Oh, Algebra!" he continued, as he took the half-sheet of paper covered with the boy's calligraphy. "Oh, Algebra! Hah! I never was much of a fist at that." "Only simple equations, sir," said the tutor. "Ah, yes. Simple equations. Well, Dexter, how are you getting on?" "Very badly, sir." "Badly? Nonsense!" "But I am, sir. These things puzzle me dreadfully. I'm so stupid." "Stupid? Nonsense! Nothing of the kind. Scarcely anybody is stupid. Men who can't understand some things understand others. Now, let's see. What is the question? H'm! ah! yes, oranges. H'm! ah! yes; not difficult, I suppose, when you know how. And--what's this? London and York--stage-coaches. Nine and a half miles, nine and a quarter miles, and--er--h'm, yes, of course, where would they meet?" "Peterborough, sir," said Mr Limpney sarcastically, and with a peculiar look at Dexter. "H'm! would they now?" said the doctor. "Well, I shouldn't have thought it! And how is he getting on with his Latin, Mr Limpney!" "Horribly, sir!" exclaimed the tutor sharply. "I am very glad you have come, for I really feel it to be my duty to complain to you of the great want of diligence displayed by my pupil." "Dear me! I am very sorry," exclaimed the doctor. "Why, Dexter, my boy, how's this? You promised me that you would be attentive." "Yes, sir, I did." "Then why are you not attentive?" "I do try to be, sir." "But if you were, Mr Limpney would not have cause to complain. It's too bad, Dexter, too bad. Do you know why Mr Limpney comes here?" "Yes, sir," said the boy dismally; "to teach me." "And you do not take advantage of his teaching. This is very serious. Very sad indeed." "I am sure, Dr Grayson, that no tutor could have taken more pains than I have to impart to him the various branches of a liberal education; but after all these months of teaching it really seems to me that we are further behind. He is not a dull boy." "Certainly not. By no means," said the doctor. "And I do not give him tasks beyond his powers." "I hope not, I am sure," said the doctor. "And yet not the slightest progress is made. There is only one explanation, sir, and that is want of diligence." "Dear me! dear me! dear me!" exclaimed the doctor. "Now, Dexter, what have you to say?" "Nothing, sir!" said the boy sadly; "only I think sometimes that my brains must be too wet." "Good gracious! boy: what do you mean!" "I mean too wet and slippery, sir, so that they will not hold what I put into them." The doctor looked at the tutor, and the tutor looked at the doctor, as if he considered that this was impertinence. "I am very sorry--very sorry indeed, Dexter," said the doctor. "There, sir, you can go now. I will have a talk to Mr Limpney. We must see if we cannot bring you to a better frame of mind." _ |
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