University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
MR. DON HAS HOLD OF A CLUE.

Looking neither at the Tomb of Adrian, nor at
the Coliseum, nor at the Field of Marathon, nor at
the Acropolis of Athens, on his way, Mr. Don, full
of his business, went straight about his errand. The
boys had moved; but he sought them out, secured
Brade, and then, followed at a little distance by the rest,
came back. It was a coincidence that, while with a
single purpose he was walking toward the play-ground,
the mysterious stranger came quietly along from the
barn, and with Mr. Stout, acting apparently as guide,
went toward the eastern road.

Mr. Don ascertained from the boy, as they walked,
that he had no recollection of ever having seen the
stranger before that day; and he also made sure, by
judicious questions, that Antony had had no sympathetic
or instinctive drawings toward the supposed
agent. While Mr. Don, and Antony in his company,
were thus making their way through the front door,
and up the main staircase, the rest of the boys —
Brade's playmates — went as straight to the back door
and up by their own way, to the neighborhood of the
Rector's study. From that room a sharp ear might
have caught the confused sound of feet and murmur of
young tongues after the door had opened and let in
Antony Brade, together with the returning Trustee.

The mysterious boy (looking not at all mysterious)
was affectionately saluted by the Head of the School,
and was invited to a seat, but managed nevertheless to
keep his feet; and then, with his cap in his hand, looked
from side to side at the throng of books.

“They followed me, sir. I thought you'd allow them
to come as far as the entry outside,” said Mr. Don, as
if in explanation of the sounds which had attended
him. (“This is the paper, sir, that I spoke of. I
brought Master Brade with me.) The others may possibly
afford additional information.”

Mr. Warren was looking at the card which had been
put into his hand.

“Shall I find a lexicon, sir? (I think that's what we
used to call them when I went to Master Bradish, at
the Hollow, in our town”). And the intelligent gentleman,
who with his eye-glasses was already scrutinizing,
at random and afar, the backs of books in different
directions, on the shelves, was eager to search.

At the word “lexicon,” Antony first allowed his eyes
to wander about the crowded bookcases, and then
turned them timidly at the lofty embodiment of scholarship
who presided over St. Bart's School, and to whom
was referred now a question of interpretation in which
the boy was himself concerned. Very possibly, if he
knew of Pericles and Plato (and he at least knew of
Xenophon), there may have been a question in his
mind whether Greek was about as easy to the Rector
as it had been to the men of old days. If so, he was
probably comforted when he heard the Head of St.
Bart's thank Mr. Don, and decline the help proposed;
and he showed all interest when that learned man
began to read from the paper: —

“` Βραδὐς ί̓σθι, εῖς ὀργής .' That seems plain
enough, and a good motto too, — `Be slow to wrath.'
The first four letters are emphasized” —

“Oh! that's it,” said the Trustee. “I saw they were
written wide” (which showed that the worthy man had
good eyes). Then he added, with the scrupulous politeness
which seemed habitual with him, “May I inquire
what they are, sir, if you please?”

“They spell `Brad,'” said the reader, who perhaps
had some curiosity to know what all this inquiry of Mr.
Don's was going to lead to.

“Would you be kind enough, sir, to read the original
— the Greek — once more?” said the inquiring
Trustee, sliding forward on his chair, to bring both
ears nearer to the reader.

Antony listened in very good humor, if not so
eagerly.

The interpreter of the cabalistic sentence complied
at once, very obligingly, and read aloud the words,
emphasizing distinctly the syllable which, as he said,
was written as emphatic. “That first syllable `Brad,'”
said he, “must be, as the mysterious gentleman said,
`for our young friend's name.'”

“Yes, sir,” said Antony, to this about his name; and
then, when he found that he had spoken impulsively,
without having been addressed, he blushed and looked
abashed, like a modest young fellow, well brought up.

The Rector of the School smiled upon him, and
said, —

“It's near enough, you see, Anty, for a play upon
words. The truth is, a foreigner couldn't get our
English a in your name very easily, and couldn't
put it into Greek; but I think he must have been a

pretty learned Theban. Did he talk a great deal of
Greek?”

“I said I thought I could make Greek Fire,” said
Mr. Don, “and then he went off with what I supposed
was Greek.”

“A happy thought of yours, certainly,” said Mr. Warren,
laughing.

Antony modestly inquired whether the Thebans
were very learned; Mr. Don listening, as to something
which might or might not bear upon the main
question.

“No,” said the Head of the School, going very readily
into the subject with the boy, “the Thebans were
Bœotians. Pindar was a Theban, to be sure; but they
were contrasted with the Athenians, though no part of
their country was more than fifty miles, perhaps, from
Attica. `Boiotum crasso jurares aëre natum,' Horace
says, as you'll find some day when you get to him.
They were stupid.”

By this time the Trustee was only politely waiting
for a pause.

“Pardon me, sir,” he said, as soon as he civilly might.
“That first word or syllable, whichever it may be, I
think you said was `Brad,' without the e, if I understand
rightly. Would you be so good as to read the
next two syllables, or words, as the case may be?”

Mr. Warren at once complied, and read with patient
distinctness: —

“' ὺς ἴς '” — (us, is).

“Ah!” said the Trustee, whose ears must have been
as good as his eyes, “there was another sound. What
is the next syllable, if you please?”

Mr. Warren again complied obligingly, and read the
syllable ' θι ,' (thi).

“Thank you, sir; that's the sound that I missed.
The two would make `isthy.' Now, sir, pardon me for
troubling you with another question (I think we may
come to something). Are the syllables which, if I
heard you rightly, you pronounced `isthy,' emphatic,
as you said `Brad' was?”

Being assured that the two syllables were not emphatic,
he continued, with animation enough to draw
Antony's attention, and very likely to excite some
curiosity in the Rector of St. Bart's School: —

“Then, sir, one more question: Could that be made
`inski' or `iski'?” Then he added, as if repeating to
himself, “Bradinski, — Bradiski.”

“No: I wish it might, if it would do you any good;
but Greek is as definite as any thing ever was. ' Ί̛σθι ' is
ί̓σθι ” (isthi is isthi).

“Perhaps, sir,” said the unwearied investigator, “you
would do me the favor to write `iski' and `inski' in
Greek?” and he supported his request by holding out
his paper and pencil.

Mr. Warren wrote as he was desired, saying, while
he wrote, —

“Now shall I dispose of your boys, outside there,
and Master Brade, here? I suppose they would like
to be off.”

“Oh! certainly, sir; certainly,” said the Trustee.
“I thought you might wish to question them.”

“Call them in, please, Anty,” said the Rector; and in
a moment three or four boys were ushered in, among
whom was Remsen, and among whom, too, was Will
Hirsett, conspicuous by the grinning of his broad
mouth.

“Boys!” said the Rector, “we hear that there was a

wonderful learned gentleman here this afternoon. Mr.
Don says he talked Greek; and I want to see if we can
make out what it was he said.”

Will Hirsett hitched himself up a little, as if preparing
for his part of witness. The other boys looked a
little blank.

“Mr. Don told him something about `Greek Fire,'
and then the gentleman said some Greek.”

“We can't remember Greek, sir,” said Remsen. “If
it had been English, we might.”

“If you was to say it over, sir,” said Will Hirsett,
less afraid of trying to fill a few gaps in authentic history
than Remsen appeared to be.

The Rector laughted. “I must guess, you know,”
he said. “Was it ` τὸ πῦρ τὸ ε̒λληνιχόν '?[1] or ` η̒ φλὸξ γραιχή '?”[2]

“Yes, sir,” said Will Hirsett, with gratifying promptness.

“Which, Will?” asked his Master, while the boys
laughed.

“I think that was it, sir, — what you said,” answered
the well-inclined witness. Even Mr. Don seemed
amused.

“ Ή φλὸξ γραιχή ?”† asked his examiner.

“Yes, sir,” said Will. “I think that was it.”

“Or τὸ πῦρ τὸ ε̒λληνιχόν ?”*

“It's one or the other, sir,” answered Will Hirsett,
with unvarying satisfaction at being able to confer a
favor of this sort upon the head of the school.

“Thank you, William,” said the Rector, sending a
glow of added pleasure over the boy's beaming face.

“Your testimony is worth fully as much as a good deal
that people give, about a thing they don't know.”

This commendation completed William's gratification;
and he handled his hat as if expecting that they
would all be dismissed now, because nothing could well
be added to what he had done.

So it was.

“Now you may go and play. Don't forget that
Greek, Will.” And, promising not to forget, Hirsett
modestly led the way from the Rector's study.

Mr. Warren took his book once more.

“How do you get on with `inski' and `iski'?” he
asked of the thoughtful Trustee.

“If you say, sir, that `isthi' couldn't be a hint for
`inski' or `iski' — (certainly the sound might suggest
—). I won't take up your time,” said Mr. Don, regretfully
or almost reproachfully, as if, somehow, the Rector
of the School was a little obstructive to science; and so
he took his leave.