's the harm, my boy. If you can't translate old Sallust by
yourself, you can't, that's all, and you've got to wait for Dr. Johnston
to do it for you. Now, mightn't you just as well get it out of this book
at once, and save all the trouble," he argued, glibly.

This was very fallacious reasoning, but somehow or other it impressed
Bert as having a good deal of force in it. The simple truth was that he
was willing to be convinced. But he did not feel quite satisfied yet.

"Then, of course, you never look at it until you have done your best to
get the lesson out without it?" he asked.

"That depends. Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't," answered Regie,
in a tone that implied very plainly that the latter "sometimes" occurred
much more frequently than the former.

Bert took up the book again and fingered it thoughtfully.

"Could I get one if I wanted to?" he asked, presently.

"Why, of course," answered Regie. "There are many more at Gossip's where
I got this, I guess."

Bert said no more; and the two boys soon began talking about something
else.

For some days thereafter Bert was in a very perplexed state of mind. It
seemed as though "the stars in their courses" were fighting not against,
but in favour of his getting a "pony" for himself. His father's absence
was indefinitely prolonged, the Sallust grew more and more difficult,
and demanded so much time, that Bert's chance of winning one of the
prizes for general proficiency was seriously jeopardised.

Instead of dismissing the subject from his mind altogether, he fell to
reasoning about it, and then his danger really began, for the more he
reasoned, the weaker his defences grew. There seemed so much to be said
in favour of the pony; and, after all, if he did not resort to it until
he had done his best to work out the translation unaided, what would be
the harm?

Clearly Bert was in a perilous position. Right and wrong were strongly
contending for the victory, and much would depend upon the issue of the
conflict.

CHAPTER XXVI.

VICTORY WON FROM DEFEAT.

Bert had reached an age and stage of development when the raising of a
decided issue between right and wrong was a matter of vital consequence.
Although he had little more than rounded out a dozen years of life, his
natural bent of mind and the influences surrounding him had been such as
to make him seem at least two years older when compared with his
contemporaries. He thought much, and, consideri