"Well, what is it to be, Caruthers?" Buller went on. "Are you going to work with me or against me? When you first came you were keen and willing. You are still keen, but you think too much of yourself now; you imagine you know more than I do. Is all this going to stop? Are we going to work together?"
There was nothing to be gained by arguing.
"Sir, I shall do my best to."
"Well, I hope so, Caruthers. It is not for my own sake I mind; you see that, don't you? It is Fernhurst that matters. We must all do our best for Fernhurst. I hope we sha'n't have any more trouble, you will be a power in the school some day, we must work together—for Fernhurst."
"Yes, sir."
Gordon walked to the door; as he put his hand on the knob he paused for a second, then turned round.
"Good-night, sir."
"Good-night, Caruthers."
He was out in the street again. There was a tremendous noise going on in one of the Buller's studies. From the courts came sounds of barge football. He did not feel as if he wanted to go and discuss everything with Mansell for a minute or so. Slowly he wandered round the shrubbery, past the big school, past the new buildings into the Abbey courtyard. He sat down on a seat and tried to think. A girl came and sat beside him and smiled at him invitingly. He took no notice. She sat there a minute or so, then got up and walked off stiffly. The Abbey clock boomed out the quarter to six. In a minute or so he would have to go back to tea. He was worried. He liked "the Bull," admired him intensely; and yet "the Bull" thought he hated him, thought him disloyal. Why could not Buller keep his temper? Why must he rush to conclusions without weighing the evidence? And "the Bull" was such a splendid man; he was one of the very few masters Gordon respected in the least. He wanted "the Bull" to like him. And then there was Lovelace. Why couldn't "the Bull" try to see life as Lovelace saw it? Why must he want everyone to share the same views as he, look at everything through the same spectacles? It wouldn't have mattered if he was merely an insignificant busybody like Christy. He was such a splendid fellow, such a man. It was all such a pity. And yet he realised that he would have to try and bend his will to that of Buller; he must endeavour to work side by side with him. It would not do to have Fernhurst split up into two camps. In the past he had thought he was doing his best; but "the Bull" wanted absolute subservience. And what "the Bull" wanted he usually got.
Lovelace, however, took quite a different view. He was mad with Buller.