"Plautus," he told the class, "wrote comedies, farces--not exercises in
translation. He was also, my innocents, occasionally naughty--oh, really
naughty. What's worse, he used slang, common every-day slang--the kind
of stuff that you and I talk. Now, I have an excellent vocabulary of
slang, obscenity, and profanity; and you are going to hear most of it.
Think of the opportunity. Don't think that I mean just 'damn' and
'hell.' They are good for a laugh in a theater any day, but Plautus was
not restrained by our modern conventions. _You_ will confine yourselves,
please, to English undefiled, but I shall speak the modern equivalent to
a Roman gutter-pup's language whenever necessary. You will find this
course very illuminating--in some ways. And, who knows? you may learn
something not only about Latin but about Rome."

Hugh thought Mr. Alling was rather flippant and lacking in dignity.
Professor Kane was more like a college teacher. Before the term was out
he hated Kane with an intensity that astonished him, and he looked
forward to his Latin classes with an eagerness of which he was almost
ashamed. Plautus in the Alling free and colloquial translations was
enormously funny.

Professor Hartley, who gave the history lectures, talked in a bass
monotone and never seemed to pause for breath. His words came in a slow
steady stream that never rose nor fell nor paused--until the bell rang.
The men in the back of the room slept. Hugh was seated near the front;
so he drew pictures in his note-book. The English instructor talked
about punctuation as if it were very unpleasant but almost religiously
important; and what the various lecturers in general science talked
about--ten men gave the course--Hugh never knew. In after years all that
he could remember about the course was that one man spoke broken English
and that a professor of physics had made huge bulbs glow with marvelous