That morning's Greek had gone unusually badly for Clint and Mr.Simkins had kept him after class and talked some plain talk to him.
When Clint's final recitation of the day was over at three he was out-of-sorts and depressed.

He felt very little like playing football and still less like studying, but Mr.Simkins had as much as told him that unless a decided improvement was at once apparent some direful fate would be his, and the instructor had a convincing way of talking and Clint quite believed him.

Consequently, of two evils Clint chose the more necessary and dedicated that afternoon to the Iliad.

The dormitory was very quiet, for it was a fine, mild day and most of the fellows were out-of-doors, and concentration should have been easy.

But it wasn't.
Clint couldn't keep his mind on his book, try as he might.