CHAPTER XI.Only the Heat!In one of the houses in Prospect Terrace there sat a family at early breakfast. A nice family; the growing up sons and daughters loving and obedient, the father and mother anxiously training them to good. It was the Talbots. They had quitted their close residence in Pimlico, and taken this in the healthy country district; having moved in at the recent quarter. Mr. Talbot was a tall, spare man, rather absorbed in cares; Mrs. Talbot a pleasant woman with a countenance and demeanour serenely cheerful, imparting in some way an idea of peace. James, known to you as Earl of Shrewsbury, was the eldest son. He was at the breakfast table now, for this was the last day of the Easter holidays, which he had been spending at home.Yes, time had gone on at Orville, as it goes on with us all. April was in, and the Easter holidays were now at an end. There was nothing much to tell of the last term, no particular event to record. Mrs. Butter overcame her fright in time, but not her anger; Tom Brabazon disappeared again; the German master was patiently working; and George Paradyne was battling with the school enmity, and bearing on his own way in spite of circumstances. He would have done it less gallantly but for the ever-constant, daily counsels of Mr. Henry. Over and over again, but for that, the boy would have broken down, for the battle against him waxed fierce and strong. The step taken by Sir Simon Orville, in inviting Mrs. Paradyne and George to dinner on Christmas Day, meant to be a healer of strife, turned out just the reverse. Trace, powerless to rebel against it, concentrated his indignation within him at the time, to let it loose on the head of the unhappy boy later. Not in a violent way, not in any manner that could be taken hold of: he was civil to Paradyne's face; but he so worked craftily on others, that a regular cabal set in against George Paradyne. Mr. Henry, so to say, bore the brunt for him. He soothed the insults, he talked the boy's resentful spirit into peace, he cheered him bravely on, he encouraged him to persevere and be patient. The Talbots were speaking of this enmity as they sat at breakfast. James suddenly interposed with a question to his father."Papa, shall you not be late?"Mr. Talbot glanced at his watch and smiled. The idea of his son's giving him a caution on the score; he, the most strictly punctual clerk the bank possessed. "It's odd how a feeling of dislike does arise in schools against a particular boy," he observed. "It was so in the school I went to, I remember. There's sure to be good cause for it. These instincts are generally to be trusted.""Papa, what do you call instinct?""What do I call instinct?" repeated Mr. Talbot. "I should have thought you were old enough, James, to know what instinct meant, without my telling you."James laughed. "Because I think in this case our instinct isforParadyne, instead of against him. I know mine is.""Then why is he disliked?""Well, I don't know. There is something not square, I believe, known to a few of the seniors only. The feeling against him is very strong."Mr. Talbot rose, and put his watch in his pocket. He always breakfasted with it on the table. "I don't understand it at all," he said; "but I must be going now."James went to the front door and opened it. Now that he had risen, you could see James Talbot's height. He was already nearly six feet, almost the tallest in the school. The boys were wont to say that the shots had made his legs grow. Mr. Talbot walked away quickly, and a boy, wearing the college cap, came up and accosted James at the door. At the same moment Mrs. Talbot came out in a commotion."Oh, James, my letter! Papa was to have posted it in town. Run and give it to him.""Allow me," said the stranger, raising his trencher to Mrs. Talbot, and taking the letter from her hand. She looked at him, and was struck with the fine character of the attractive countenance—the open candour of the large grey eyes."That's Paradyne," whispered James, watching him as he caught Mr. Talbot."ThatParadyne! Then I am sure—"But he had accomplished his mission, and was coming back again, laughing at the haste he had made. "Mr. Talbot bade me say he did not know there was any letter to take," he observed to Mrs. Talbot."No, I forgot to tell him. Thank you very much."He lifted his cap to her again as he walked away, and she went in with the earl."James," said Mrs. Talbot to her son, "you tell me that the school has a prejudice against that boy?""Indeed it has. Something more than a prejudice. We are all against him.""And you motive—your reason, I should say?""I really don't know. The prejudice is there, and we all share in it, and that's all.""Oh, James! is it right?""Perhaps not. I have thought it not quite the thing all along; but one must go with the stream. They are very poor, those Paradynes. Don't look angry, mamma; I am not speaking it as a reproach.""I hope not. I think a son of mine would scarcely do so. They cannot well be poorer than we are.""Yes, they are, a great deal. It is our education that keeps papa poor—mine especially. I shall try to repay you for it some day, mother mine. A vision comes over me now and again of gaining the Orville. I should get to college then and all would be easy.""You vain boy. The Orville will be for some one of your seniors, sir."Talbot laughed. "Yes, I fear it is but a vision of dreamland. But oh, mother,"—and his tone changed to solemn earnest,—"what a boon it would be!""Tell me why you dislike George Paradyne," resumed Mrs. Talbot, breaking the slight pause."I don't dislike, him. I like him in spite of all. One can't help admiring him for his spirit; he throws off all our shafts so bravely. He is one of the most generous, open fellows possible. I see you don't understand, and I don't understand it myself. Few of us do. There's an awful feeling about his going in for the Orville."Mrs. Talbot gave it up as a bad job, and opened the book for the ten minutes' reading to the children, never omitted in the house.The Talbots had made some acquaintance in the place, and Mrs. Talbot questioned Mrs. Gall and one or two more, what the dislike of George Paradyne arose from. She felt more interested on the subject than she could account for. But none were able to answer her. Mrs. Gall had herself put the same query to her son, and nothing satisfactory came of it.As the term went on, the uncomfortable feeling in the school grew, greater and greater. But there was little time for anything but study, for the Oxford examination was approaching fast.One hot Saturday afternoon, when the College had holiday, Mr. Henry went to the railway station to inquire after an expected parcel of books. Saturday afternoon was no holiday for him. He had three private lessons to give in it. As he left the station, walking very fast to keep his time at Mrs. Gall's, a sharp, sudden pain seized upon him. He was leaning against the fence of the plantation, white and faint, when Sir Simon Orville passed."Why, bless me, what's to do?" exclaimed that hearty gentleman. "Have you been run over?"Mr. Henry smiled: his colour was coming back again. He said something about a sudden pain."Been eating green gooseberries?" asked the unsophisticated man. "I caught young Dick buying a quart. He's crunching the lot.""It took me here," said Mr. Henry, touching his left side. "It's gone now.""Why, that's near the heart; it couldn't have been there, I should think," said Sir Simon, peering at him curiously. "Well, we are close at home; come in to Pond Place and rest."Thank you, Sir Simon; I am all right now. I must go on quickly to my pupils.""I'll tell you what it is, sir; you are overworking yourself. That's my opinion.""Oh, no. Folks can't do too much at my age.""That depends upon the amount of strength: I could have plodded on night and day; you seem to get more of a lath than ever. What's the reason you never will accept my hospitality? Got any dislike to me?—taken up a prejudice? I know I'm a plain man, without education; but you might put up with that.""If I could only show you how I respect you, Sir Simon; if I could but live to be of service to you!" was the impulsive answer. "But, indeed, I can never get time for visiting: the little Galls are waiting for me now."And away he went through the plantation, leaving Sir Simon considerably puzzled, as he had been before, at the earnestness of the words and manner; for they seemed to imply more than was on the surface. That afternoon, in the very midst of explaining to Master Fred Gall an abstruse difficulty in the Latin grammar, Mr. Henry leaned back in his chair and quietly fainted away. With a hullabaloo that might have been heard at the distant college, the children threw open the door and scattered away, pell-mell.The noise brought forth Mrs. Gall and her eldest son; who had stepped in at home, as he had the liberty to do on holidays. They took off his neckcloth and brought him wine, and were very tender with him."Do forgive me," he murmured, in deep contrition for the trouble he was causing. "The heat must have overpowered me; I have been walking fast."Mrs. Gall would not hear of his continuing the lesson. She made him lie on the sofa and rest. She and her children had grown to like him very much; which the senior boy, in his prejudice, silently shrugged his shoulders at. But there was something about him this afternoon, in his transitory helplessness, his gratitude for the care shown, that appealed to William Gall's better feelings and half won his heart. Mr. Henry could not rest long; he had a German lesson to give at five o'clock, and must go home first for the necessary books. When he went out, Gall went with him, and offered his arm."You will walk all the better for it, Mr. Henry. Years back I used to have fainting-fits myself, and know how they take the strength away."Mr. Henry accepted it, and they walked on together. He had always liked Gall: never a better head and heartau fondthan his. Leaning too readily, perhaps, to the prejudices of the school he partially swayed; but Mr. Henry allowed for that: others might have done it more offensively. Gall had never taken an active part in the cabal against young Paradyne, or in the contempt lavished on the German master; but he had tacitly acquiesced in it.Some of the boys happened to be in the quadrangle; and, to describe the commotion when Gall passed arm-in-arm with the enemy—as Trace was in the private habit of calling Mr. Henry—would be beyond any pen. Gall, thoroughly independent always, vouchsafed a cool nod to the sea of astonished faces, and continued his way. If anything could have daunted him, it was the supercilious contempt on Bertie Loftus's handsome face: anything that Gall did was sure to excite that, for there was no good feeling between them. Bertie would have done the same thing himself for Mr. Henry, or for any one else in case of need; but he lost sight of that in his prejudice against Gall. Mr. Henry called for some coffee on going in: coffee was his panacea for most ailments."You'll stay and take a cup with me," he said cordially, to Gall. "I feel quite well now. It must have been the heat."Mrs. Butter brought the coffee and some bread-and-butter, and the two chatted together. Gall had never seen so much of Mr. Henry in all the past months as in this one hour, and he felt ashamed for having turned the cold shoulder on him."I hope I shall see more of you, Mr. Henry, than I have seen hitherto," he said, when he was shaking hands to leave. "Is there nothing I can do for you? If there is, tell me. I hope you'll not have a renewal of this.""Thank you," replied Mr. Henry, looking straight at him with his pleasant eyes. "I wish I could get you to alter one thing—the persecution of young Paradyne.""Well, it is too bad," observed Gall. "But I can't make the school like Paradyne if they dislike him.""Can you tell mewhythey dislike him?" pointedly asked Mr. Henry: for times and again it had struck him that the particulars of the Liverpool business must have been privately circulated by Trace or Loftus."No, that I can't," frankly answered Gall. "I have heard Trace hint at some reason for dislike, but he never said what. Miss Brabazon asked me about it once, but I did not learn anything. I think they are vexed that he, a new fellow, should have his name down for the Orville Exhibition.""That should not cause them to persecute him.""True. But, you see, when once a prejudice arises, it is not easy to allay it.""Did it ever occur to you to realize Paradyne's position to your own mind?" asked Mr. Henry, "He is clever, generous, noble, forbearing; wishing to live in amity with all; and yet he is subjected to this cruel persecution: and for no cause that I can find out. Think it over, Mr. Gall, at your leisure; and now goodbye, and thank you for your company."Mr. Henry sat back in his chair, listening to the senior boy's departing footsteps. There were times when he felt utterly depressed, as if every bit of spirit and energy had gone out of him. He was in a false position at Orville College, and he knew it. Since the first day of his entrance he had been fighting a battle with conscience; this of itself, with his sensitive mind, was enough to wear him out; it needed not his hard work added to it."I can't keep it up," he said to himself, as he rose, caught up some books, and went out to give his lesson. "And it is not right I should. Once the Oxford examination's over, the end shall come; and then, if I have to leave the college, why, I must leave it. I'd rather be back at Heidelberg."Meanwhile Gall was walking slowly away, and "thinking over" the matter in regard to Paradyne: not because Mr. Henry had desired him to do it, but on his own score. Gall's was a just nature; he felt vexed with himself for the past; angry with the school in general.It was not an opportune moment for Loftus to meet him, with his supercilious face, his still more supercilious words. In the middle of the grass, near the gymnasium-ground, they encountered each other. The under-current of enmity between these two was of long-standing, and Gall at least had inwardly and bitterly resented it. What Loftus said was never precisely known; some stinging taunt, reflecting on the "new friendship," meaning little, perhaps; but the other was not in a mood to bear it. The next moment, Gall had knocked him down.He lay sprawling, the distinguished Loftus, his golden curls in contact with the base earth, his handsome nose bleeding with the blow. Gall stood erect, with compressed lips; the wondering boys were flocking up, and Mother Butter's dog stood by, barking fiercely, as if it were a raree-show.Loftus rose. Whether he would have struck again was a question; he was not deficient in personal bravery, rather the contrary, but these elegant dandies rarely go in for blows. No opportunity was given one way or the other, for Mr. Henry, hastening up, stepped between them."Move away," said Loftus to him. "What business is it of yours?""The business of authority," was Mr. Henry's answer, delivered with calm decision. "So long as I hold the position of master here, I shall act as such when need arises. Gentlemen,"—and he looked at both equally—"there must be no more of this.""You need not be alarmed on your friend's behalf," said Loftus, with an ugly stress on the word "friend." "You, Gall,"—and he turned to him—"shall answer to me for this, later."They moved away in different directions, Gall one road, Loftus another, Mr. Henry a third; and the astonished boys stood, looking after them with a vacant stare, hardly able to believe that the transitory scene had been real.
In one of the houses in Prospect Terrace there sat a family at early breakfast. A nice family; the growing up sons and daughters loving and obedient, the father and mother anxiously training them to good. It was the Talbots. They had quitted their close residence in Pimlico, and taken this in the healthy country district; having moved in at the recent quarter. Mr. Talbot was a tall, spare man, rather absorbed in cares; Mrs. Talbot a pleasant woman with a countenance and demeanour serenely cheerful, imparting in some way an idea of peace. James, known to you as Earl of Shrewsbury, was the eldest son. He was at the breakfast table now, for this was the last day of the Easter holidays, which he had been spending at home.
Yes, time had gone on at Orville, as it goes on with us all. April was in, and the Easter holidays were now at an end. There was nothing much to tell of the last term, no particular event to record. Mrs. Butter overcame her fright in time, but not her anger; Tom Brabazon disappeared again; the German master was patiently working; and George Paradyne was battling with the school enmity, and bearing on his own way in spite of circumstances. He would have done it less gallantly but for the ever-constant, daily counsels of Mr. Henry. Over and over again, but for that, the boy would have broken down, for the battle against him waxed fierce and strong. The step taken by Sir Simon Orville, in inviting Mrs. Paradyne and George to dinner on Christmas Day, meant to be a healer of strife, turned out just the reverse. Trace, powerless to rebel against it, concentrated his indignation within him at the time, to let it loose on the head of the unhappy boy later. Not in a violent way, not in any manner that could be taken hold of: he was civil to Paradyne's face; but he so worked craftily on others, that a regular cabal set in against George Paradyne. Mr. Henry, so to say, bore the brunt for him. He soothed the insults, he talked the boy's resentful spirit into peace, he cheered him bravely on, he encouraged him to persevere and be patient. The Talbots were speaking of this enmity as they sat at breakfast. James suddenly interposed with a question to his father.
"Papa, shall you not be late?"
Mr. Talbot glanced at his watch and smiled. The idea of his son's giving him a caution on the score; he, the most strictly punctual clerk the bank possessed. "It's odd how a feeling of dislike does arise in schools against a particular boy," he observed. "It was so in the school I went to, I remember. There's sure to be good cause for it. These instincts are generally to be trusted."
"Papa, what do you call instinct?"
"What do I call instinct?" repeated Mr. Talbot. "I should have thought you were old enough, James, to know what instinct meant, without my telling you."
James laughed. "Because I think in this case our instinct isforParadyne, instead of against him. I know mine is."
"Then why is he disliked?"
"Well, I don't know. There is something not square, I believe, known to a few of the seniors only. The feeling against him is very strong."
Mr. Talbot rose, and put his watch in his pocket. He always breakfasted with it on the table. "I don't understand it at all," he said; "but I must be going now."
James went to the front door and opened it. Now that he had risen, you could see James Talbot's height. He was already nearly six feet, almost the tallest in the school. The boys were wont to say that the shots had made his legs grow. Mr. Talbot walked away quickly, and a boy, wearing the college cap, came up and accosted James at the door. At the same moment Mrs. Talbot came out in a commotion.
"Oh, James, my letter! Papa was to have posted it in town. Run and give it to him."
"Allow me," said the stranger, raising his trencher to Mrs. Talbot, and taking the letter from her hand. She looked at him, and was struck with the fine character of the attractive countenance—the open candour of the large grey eyes.
"That's Paradyne," whispered James, watching him as he caught Mr. Talbot.
"ThatParadyne! Then I am sure—"
But he had accomplished his mission, and was coming back again, laughing at the haste he had made. "Mr. Talbot bade me say he did not know there was any letter to take," he observed to Mrs. Talbot.
"No, I forgot to tell him. Thank you very much."
He lifted his cap to her again as he walked away, and she went in with the earl.
"James," said Mrs. Talbot to her son, "you tell me that the school has a prejudice against that boy?"
"Indeed it has. Something more than a prejudice. We are all against him."
"And you motive—your reason, I should say?"
"I really don't know. The prejudice is there, and we all share in it, and that's all."
"Oh, James! is it right?"
"Perhaps not. I have thought it not quite the thing all along; but one must go with the stream. They are very poor, those Paradynes. Don't look angry, mamma; I am not speaking it as a reproach."
"I hope not. I think a son of mine would scarcely do so. They cannot well be poorer than we are."
"Yes, they are, a great deal. It is our education that keeps papa poor—mine especially. I shall try to repay you for it some day, mother mine. A vision comes over me now and again of gaining the Orville. I should get to college then and all would be easy."
"You vain boy. The Orville will be for some one of your seniors, sir."
Talbot laughed. "Yes, I fear it is but a vision of dreamland. But oh, mother,"—and his tone changed to solemn earnest,—"what a boon it would be!"
"Tell me why you dislike George Paradyne," resumed Mrs. Talbot, breaking the slight pause.
"I don't dislike, him. I like him in spite of all. One can't help admiring him for his spirit; he throws off all our shafts so bravely. He is one of the most generous, open fellows possible. I see you don't understand, and I don't understand it myself. Few of us do. There's an awful feeling about his going in for the Orville."
Mrs. Talbot gave it up as a bad job, and opened the book for the ten minutes' reading to the children, never omitted in the house.
The Talbots had made some acquaintance in the place, and Mrs. Talbot questioned Mrs. Gall and one or two more, what the dislike of George Paradyne arose from. She felt more interested on the subject than she could account for. But none were able to answer her. Mrs. Gall had herself put the same query to her son, and nothing satisfactory came of it.
As the term went on, the uncomfortable feeling in the school grew, greater and greater. But there was little time for anything but study, for the Oxford examination was approaching fast.
One hot Saturday afternoon, when the College had holiday, Mr. Henry went to the railway station to inquire after an expected parcel of books. Saturday afternoon was no holiday for him. He had three private lessons to give in it. As he left the station, walking very fast to keep his time at Mrs. Gall's, a sharp, sudden pain seized upon him. He was leaning against the fence of the plantation, white and faint, when Sir Simon Orville passed.
"Why, bless me, what's to do?" exclaimed that hearty gentleman. "Have you been run over?"
Mr. Henry smiled: his colour was coming back again. He said something about a sudden pain.
"Been eating green gooseberries?" asked the unsophisticated man. "I caught young Dick buying a quart. He's crunching the lot."
"It took me here," said Mr. Henry, touching his left side. "It's gone now."
"Why, that's near the heart; it couldn't have been there, I should think," said Sir Simon, peering at him curiously. "Well, we are close at home; come in to Pond Place and rest.
"Thank you, Sir Simon; I am all right now. I must go on quickly to my pupils."
"I'll tell you what it is, sir; you are overworking yourself. That's my opinion."
"Oh, no. Folks can't do too much at my age."
"That depends upon the amount of strength: I could have plodded on night and day; you seem to get more of a lath than ever. What's the reason you never will accept my hospitality? Got any dislike to me?—taken up a prejudice? I know I'm a plain man, without education; but you might put up with that."
"If I could only show you how I respect you, Sir Simon; if I could but live to be of service to you!" was the impulsive answer. "But, indeed, I can never get time for visiting: the little Galls are waiting for me now."
And away he went through the plantation, leaving Sir Simon considerably puzzled, as he had been before, at the earnestness of the words and manner; for they seemed to imply more than was on the surface. That afternoon, in the very midst of explaining to Master Fred Gall an abstruse difficulty in the Latin grammar, Mr. Henry leaned back in his chair and quietly fainted away. With a hullabaloo that might have been heard at the distant college, the children threw open the door and scattered away, pell-mell.
The noise brought forth Mrs. Gall and her eldest son; who had stepped in at home, as he had the liberty to do on holidays. They took off his neckcloth and brought him wine, and were very tender with him.
"Do forgive me," he murmured, in deep contrition for the trouble he was causing. "The heat must have overpowered me; I have been walking fast."
Mrs. Gall would not hear of his continuing the lesson. She made him lie on the sofa and rest. She and her children had grown to like him very much; which the senior boy, in his prejudice, silently shrugged his shoulders at. But there was something about him this afternoon, in his transitory helplessness, his gratitude for the care shown, that appealed to William Gall's better feelings and half won his heart. Mr. Henry could not rest long; he had a German lesson to give at five o'clock, and must go home first for the necessary books. When he went out, Gall went with him, and offered his arm.
"You will walk all the better for it, Mr. Henry. Years back I used to have fainting-fits myself, and know how they take the strength away."
Mr. Henry accepted it, and they walked on together. He had always liked Gall: never a better head and heartau fondthan his. Leaning too readily, perhaps, to the prejudices of the school he partially swayed; but Mr. Henry allowed for that: others might have done it more offensively. Gall had never taken an active part in the cabal against young Paradyne, or in the contempt lavished on the German master; but he had tacitly acquiesced in it.
Some of the boys happened to be in the quadrangle; and, to describe the commotion when Gall passed arm-in-arm with the enemy—as Trace was in the private habit of calling Mr. Henry—would be beyond any pen. Gall, thoroughly independent always, vouchsafed a cool nod to the sea of astonished faces, and continued his way. If anything could have daunted him, it was the supercilious contempt on Bertie Loftus's handsome face: anything that Gall did was sure to excite that, for there was no good feeling between them. Bertie would have done the same thing himself for Mr. Henry, or for any one else in case of need; but he lost sight of that in his prejudice against Gall. Mr. Henry called for some coffee on going in: coffee was his panacea for most ailments.
"You'll stay and take a cup with me," he said cordially, to Gall. "I feel quite well now. It must have been the heat."
Mrs. Butter brought the coffee and some bread-and-butter, and the two chatted together. Gall had never seen so much of Mr. Henry in all the past months as in this one hour, and he felt ashamed for having turned the cold shoulder on him.
"I hope I shall see more of you, Mr. Henry, than I have seen hitherto," he said, when he was shaking hands to leave. "Is there nothing I can do for you? If there is, tell me. I hope you'll not have a renewal of this."
"Thank you," replied Mr. Henry, looking straight at him with his pleasant eyes. "I wish I could get you to alter one thing—the persecution of young Paradyne."
"Well, it is too bad," observed Gall. "But I can't make the school like Paradyne if they dislike him."
"Can you tell mewhythey dislike him?" pointedly asked Mr. Henry: for times and again it had struck him that the particulars of the Liverpool business must have been privately circulated by Trace or Loftus.
"No, that I can't," frankly answered Gall. "I have heard Trace hint at some reason for dislike, but he never said what. Miss Brabazon asked me about it once, but I did not learn anything. I think they are vexed that he, a new fellow, should have his name down for the Orville Exhibition."
"That should not cause them to persecute him."
"True. But, you see, when once a prejudice arises, it is not easy to allay it."
"Did it ever occur to you to realize Paradyne's position to your own mind?" asked Mr. Henry, "He is clever, generous, noble, forbearing; wishing to live in amity with all; and yet he is subjected to this cruel persecution: and for no cause that I can find out. Think it over, Mr. Gall, at your leisure; and now goodbye, and thank you for your company."
Mr. Henry sat back in his chair, listening to the senior boy's departing footsteps. There were times when he felt utterly depressed, as if every bit of spirit and energy had gone out of him. He was in a false position at Orville College, and he knew it. Since the first day of his entrance he had been fighting a battle with conscience; this of itself, with his sensitive mind, was enough to wear him out; it needed not his hard work added to it.
"I can't keep it up," he said to himself, as he rose, caught up some books, and went out to give his lesson. "And it is not right I should. Once the Oxford examination's over, the end shall come; and then, if I have to leave the college, why, I must leave it. I'd rather be back at Heidelberg."
Meanwhile Gall was walking slowly away, and "thinking over" the matter in regard to Paradyne: not because Mr. Henry had desired him to do it, but on his own score. Gall's was a just nature; he felt vexed with himself for the past; angry with the school in general.
It was not an opportune moment for Loftus to meet him, with his supercilious face, his still more supercilious words. In the middle of the grass, near the gymnasium-ground, they encountered each other. The under-current of enmity between these two was of long-standing, and Gall at least had inwardly and bitterly resented it. What Loftus said was never precisely known; some stinging taunt, reflecting on the "new friendship," meaning little, perhaps; but the other was not in a mood to bear it. The next moment, Gall had knocked him down.
He lay sprawling, the distinguished Loftus, his golden curls in contact with the base earth, his handsome nose bleeding with the blow. Gall stood erect, with compressed lips; the wondering boys were flocking up, and Mother Butter's dog stood by, barking fiercely, as if it were a raree-show.
Loftus rose. Whether he would have struck again was a question; he was not deficient in personal bravery, rather the contrary, but these elegant dandies rarely go in for blows. No opportunity was given one way or the other, for Mr. Henry, hastening up, stepped between them.
"Move away," said Loftus to him. "What business is it of yours?"
"The business of authority," was Mr. Henry's answer, delivered with calm decision. "So long as I hold the position of master here, I shall act as such when need arises. Gentlemen,"—and he looked at both equally—"there must be no more of this."
"You need not be alarmed on your friend's behalf," said Loftus, with an ugly stress on the word "friend." "You, Gall,"—and he turned to him—"shall answer to me for this, later."
They moved away in different directions, Gall one road, Loftus another, Mr. Henry a third; and the astonished boys stood, looking after them with a vacant stare, hardly able to believe that the transitory scene had been real.