"It has been there a long time," the boy replied rummaging his book.

Pemberton was silent, then he went on: "I say, what are you hunting for?
They pay me beautifully."

"I'm hunting for the Greek for awful whopper," Morgan dropped.

"Find that rather for gross impertinence and disabuse your mind. What do
I want of money?"

"Oh that's another question!"

Pemberton wavered--he was drawn in different ways. The severely correct
thing would have been to tell the boy that such a matter was none of his
business and bid him go on with his lines. But they were really too
intimate for that; it was not the way he was in the habit of treating
him; there had been no reason it should be. On the other hand Morgan had
quite lighted on the truth--he really shouldn't be able to keep it up
much longer; therefore why not let him know one's real motive for
forsaking him? At the same time it wasn't decent to abuse to one's pupil
the family of one's pupil; it was better to misrepresent than to do that.
So in reply to his comrade's last exclamation he just declared, to
dismiss the subject, that he had received several payments.

"I say--I say!" the boy ejaculated, laughing.

"That's all right," Pemberton insisted. "Give me your written
rendering."