“I don’t feel sure that I’ve been too hard on Westby.”
The rector smiled; he was not displeased at this trace of stubbornness.
“Well, I won’t advise you any further about that. Use your own judgment. It takes time for a young man to get his bearings in a place like this.—If you don’t mind my saying it,” added the rector mildly, “couldn’t you be a little more objective in your interests?”
“You mean,” said Irving, “less—less self-centred?”
“That’s it.” The rector smiled.
“I’ll try,” said Irving humbly.
“All right; good luck.” The rector shook hands with him and turned to his desk.
There was no disturbance in the Mathematics class that day. Irving hoped that after the hour Westby and Collingwood might approach him to discuss the justice of the reports which he had given them, and so offer him an opportunity of lightening the punishment. But in this he was disappointed. Nor did they come to him in the noon recess—the usual time for boys who felt themselves wronged to seek out the masters who had wronged them.
Irving debated with himself the advisability of going to the two boys and voluntarily remitting part of their task. But he decided against this; to make the advances and the concession both would be to concede too much.
At luncheon there was an unpleasant moment. No sooner had the boys sat down than Blake, a Fifth Former, called across the table to Westby,—