“He looks like the right sort,” said Mr. Dean, turning to Dr. Ives with a smile. [“How did you find the examinations?”]
[“HOW DID YOU FIND THE EXAMINATIONS?”]
“Not very hard,” replied David.
“Good; then you’ll be in the fifth form without a doubt; the Latin class will assist us to a better acquaintance. Good-bye, Dr. Ives; we’ll take good care of your son.”
Dr. Ives looked after the tall figure of the master as he swung away, gripping his stout cane by the middle, and said:
“David, my boy, there’s a gentleman and a scholar. Be his friend, and let him be yours.”
“Yes, father,” David said obediently.
They walked slowly to the building in which David had his room, climbed the stairs, and sat down by the window. Dr. Ives looked out in silence for a time, wishing to fix in his mind the view that was to become so familiar to his son—the grassplots bounded by stone posts and white rail fences, the roadways, lined with maple trees, the clustered red-brick buildings above which rose the lofty chapel tower in the sunlight of the warm September day.
“This should be a good place to study in, David,” he said. “It’s in the quiet places that a man can prepare himself best.”