"Triste lupus stabulis," began the luckless youngster, and stammered
through some eight or ten lines.
"There, that will do," said the Doctor; "now construe."
On common occasions the boy could have construed the passage well enough
probably, but now his head was gone.
"Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf," he began.
A shudder ran through the whole form, and the Doctor's wrath fairly
boiled over. He made three steps up to the construer, and gave him a
good box on the ear. The blow was not a hard one, but the boy was so
taken by surprise that he started back; the form caught the back of his
knees, and over he went on to the floor behind. There was a dead silence
over the whole school. Never before and never again while Tom was at
school did the Doctor strike a boy in lesson. The provocation must have
been great. However, the victim had saved his form for that occasion,
for the Doctor turned to the top bench, and put on the best boys for the
rest of the hour and though, at the end of the lesson, he gave them all
such a rating as they did not forget, this terrible field-day passed
over without any severe visitations in the shape of punishments or
floggings. Forty young scapegraces expressed their thanks to the
"sorrowful wolf" in their different ways before second lesson.
But a character for steadiness once gone is not easily recovered, as Tom
found; and for years afterwards he went up the school without it,
and the masters' hands were against him, and his against them.
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