“You have grown greatly, Cashel. And I am afraid you are very awkward.” Cashel colored and looked gloomy.
“I do not know what to do with you,” continued Mrs. Byron. “Dr. Moncrief tells me that you are very idle and rough.”
“I am not,” said Cashel, sulkily. “It is bec—”
“There is no use in contradicting me in that fashion,” said Mrs. Byron, interrupting him sharply. “I am sure that whatever Dr. Moncrief says is perfectly true.”
“He is always talking like that,” said Cashel, plaintively. “I can’t learn Latin and Greek; and I don’t see what good they are. I work as hard as any of the rest—except the regular stews, perhaps. As to my being rough, that is all because I was out one day with Gully Molesworth, and we saw a crowd on the common, and when we went to see what was up it was two men fighting. It wasn’t our fault that they came there to fight.”
“Yes; I have no doubt that you have fifty good excuses, Cashel. But I will not allow any fighting; and you really must work harder. Do you ever think of how hard I have to work to pay Dr. Moncrief one hundred and twenty pounds a year for you?”
“I work as hard as I can. Old Moncrief seems to think that a fellow ought to do nothing else from morning till night but write Latin verses. Tatham, that the doctor thinks such a genius, does all his constering from cribs. If I had a crib I could conster as well—very likely better.”
“You are very idle, Cashel; I am sure of that. It is too provoking to throw away so much money every year for nothing. Besides, you must soon be thinking of a profession.”
“I shall go into the army,” said Cashel. “It is the only profession for a gentleman.”
Mrs. Byron looked at him for a moment as if amazed at his presumption. But she checked herself and only said, “I am afraid you will have to choose some less expensive profession than that. Besides, you would have to pass an examination to enable you to enter the army; and how can you do that unless you study?”