We made our way slowly through the day’s translation. As is my custom, I called on various boys to allow them to try their hand. I will admit, I try to keep them slightly off balance, sometimes calling on someone who hasn’t volunteered, sometimes going only for the boys who have raised their hands. Since Mr. Bryson’s initial objections to my overlooking him, I had begun to be more conscientious about calling on him as well, not wanting to be perceived as unfair. It was also important that he do well in my class in order to continue to participate in cross-country. Once I did start calling on him and had a chance to deal with more of his written work, I found that he was an average student. Not particularly gifted in Latin translation, but within acceptable boundaries for a boy of his age.

He sat with his gaze directed out the window, his legs planted insolently. “Mr. Bryson.” My voice came out more sharply than I had intended.

“Yes, Mr. Washington?” He looked rather guileless. But I knew better now.

“I’d appreciate it if you would bring your mind down from whatever elevated plane it was on and rejoin us here in the room.” Some of the boys laughed. I ignored their chuckles. “Since, as you showed us this morning, you are possessed of an extraordinary degree of wisdom, would you be so kind as to favor us with your version of this phrase: Diligentia maximum etiam mediocris ingeni subsidium.”

“‘Diligence is the most …’ I … I don’t know the rest. Sir.” His eyes were wide but defiant, his voice contemptuous.

“‘Diligence is a very great help to even a mediocre intelligence.’ Seneca said that. They are words I believe you could heartily benefit from, Mr. Bryson. Perhaps a little more time with your books and a little less time on your speeches would be in order.” Again, a moment’s laughter from some of the boys, a cowed silence from others. I ignored them all, turning away from him. I could feel his wounded gaze following me. “Let’s move on, gentlemen.”

I taught the rest of the class without incident and without calling on him again. I said in conclusion shortly before the end of the period, “Before I end for the day, I wanted to let you gentlemen know that I’ll have your midterm exams back to you by tomorrow’s class. Are there any questions about today’s work or the assignment for tomorrow?”

Bryson’s hand went up, the only one. I couldn’t very well ignore it. “I wonder, Mr. Washington, if I could ask if people thought that my chapel talk this morning had anything to do with this class in particular? We’re supposed to ask people what they think of our talks when we make them, right?” He said this with what I perceived to be slight sarcasm.