As he stayed away longer than he had intended doing, Tom grew restless and angry, too, that Fred should treat Harold Hastings as an equal, for the two had at once entered into conversation, comparing notes with regard to their standing in school and discussing the merits of Cicero and Virgil, the latter of which Harold had just commenced.
'We can't wait here all day for Dick,' Tom said.

'Let us go out and look at the pictures.' So they went down the stairs to a long hall, in which many pictures were hanging--some family portraits and others, copies of the old masters which Mr.St.Claire had brought from abroad.

Near one of the portraits Fred lingered a long time, commenting upon its beauty, and the resemblance he saw in it to little Nina St.Claire, the daughter of the house, and whose aunt the original had been.

The portrait was not far from the stairway which led to the billiard-room, and Harold, who had remained behind, and was listlessly knocking the balls, could not help hearing all they said: 'By the way, who is that Hastings?
I don't think I have seen him before; he is a right clever chap,' Fred Raymond said.
Tom replied, in that sneering, contemptuous tone which Harold knew so well, and which always made his blood boil and his fingers tingle with a desire to knock the speaker down: 'Oh, that's Hal Hastings, a poor boy, who does chores for us and the St.
Claires.

His grandmother used to work at the park house, and so uncle Arthur pays for his schooling, and Hal allows it, which I think right small in him.