Franz, whose body was present but whose spirit had flown to help Caesar
chase the fox, paid no attention.
Then he was rudely jerked back into the hall of learning.
"I am talking to you, Franz," Professor Luttman said.
"Me? Oh! Yes, sir," Franz stammered.
"Proceed," Professor Luttman said.
"Well--You see, sir--"
Professor Luttman's kindly, studious face was suddenly very weary. "Did
you even hear me?" he asked.
"No, sir," Franz admitted.
"Very well, I'll repeat. Translate the assigned lesson."
"I--I cannot do it, sir."
"Why not?" Professor Luttman asked.
"I do not know it, sir," Franz confessed.
Hertha Bittner, who was always able to do any lesson perfectly, giggled.
Her laugh was echoed by the other students. Professor Luttman looked
directly at Franz.
"I fear," he said sorrowfully, "that your scholarly instincts and
abilities leave much to be desired. For two years I have tried earnestly
to teach you, and I question whether you have yet mastered the simplest
portion of any subject at all. It is my considered opinion that your
time will be far more constructively spent if you devote it to helping
your father. Will you be so good as to go home and tell him what I have
said?"
"Yes, sir."
Franz left the schoolroom, his cheeks burning. Caesar's meeting him at
the door lifted none of his shame and embarrassment, but did provide
solace. Laying his hand on the big mastiff's neck, Franz struck directly
away from the school.
At least, he could take the long way home.