Confessions of an Etonian
"How old are you, Graham?" asked my future tutor.
"Nine, if you please, sir."
"Can you do sense-verses?"
"No, sir, only nonsense ones."
"Well, you are placed in the upper Greek; be in eight-o'clock-school to-morrow. Graham," calling me back, "take this order to the book-seller, and he will give you the requisite school-books. It is Greek grammar in the morning; get a boy to show you where the lesson is. You may go."
So soon as I had procured the books, I peeped into the Greek grammar, which struck me as being an interesting-looking book, for hitherto, I had never even seen a Greek letter. I went to my Dames, where I found Tyrrel ma, and Kennedy, who shared my room, playing at battledore.
"You don't care for the row, Graham, do you?" asked Tyrrel, after they had played half an hour, and observing that I looked a little