“I thought,” he was beginning vaguely, when Mr. Boniface interrupted him.
“Lieutenant Wilde, what am I going to do about these boys?” he said, rushing at once into the midst of his subject, with the air of a man too much in earnest to waste time in mere words.
Lieutenant Wilde met him with equal directness.
“What boys?” he inquired. “Has there been any fresh trouble, Mr. Boniface?”
“No,” burst out the other; “nothing fresh, but it’s a matter of every day, and it’s wearing the life out of me. They hate me and they try to annoy me in every way, till I feel like an old dog, at the mercy of a crowd of snarling, yelping puppies. I’ve tried everything, but it’s getting worse every day. I want the boys to like me, and I want to like them,” he continued, resuming his march; “but it’s come to where we regard each other as sworn enemies. It’s spoiling the best years of my life and sapping my best energies.”
“Oh, pshaw, Boniface!” exclaimed Lieutenant Wilde, with sudden impatience; “men in our position haven’t any business to know whether we have any best energies or not; all we are here for is to make the best we can out of our boys. But I beg your pardon,” he added more quietly; “I didn’t mean to be rude. Who are the boys that are annoying you?”
Luke Boniface dropped into a chair and began twisting his watch-chain restlessly.
“All the boys, more or less; but most of all, that Max Eliot and his set.”
“Max Eliot?” responded the other teacher thoughtfully. “Max is an incorrigible imp; but really, Mr. Boniface, he isn’t a bad boy, only a thoughtless, mischievous tease. I am sorry he’s made you trouble, for I think he and his set are the finest fellows in the school.”
Mr. Boniface looked at him incredulously.