"It's no good, Charley, I can't do it."
I felt half ashamed to meet Chandos after this, for he knew I had been to talk to Tom, and I couldn't bear him to think he was such a sneak as he has been over this; but there was no getting out of it, for he was standing by the lobby door as I went in, and looked at me in such a way that I said, crossly,
"Why don't you go to the governor yourself and tell him all about it?"
"Then Haslitt won't go?"
"No, he won't," I said. "This beastly school has made him a sneak—he never was before; he never served anybody such a trick, and he never would if he hadn't come here."
"Well, don't get so angry about it, Stewart. My mother says one of the principal uses of a school is to try what mettle we are of. We cannot tell whether a character is strong or weak until it has been tried, and the temptations and failures at school prepare us better for the temptations of the world afterwards."
"What do I care about the temptations of the world? It's this school that has spoiled Tom, and he will never be my chum again, and I shall have to look out for another lieutenant for my ship;" and I rushed off indoors, for fear Chandos should say any more, for I could not bear to hear him speak against Tom.
CHAPTER III.
THE SKATING PARTY.
November 30th.—I haven't spoken to Tom for a week, but he's so mixed up with the other fellows now that he don't seem to mind; but I am very dull, and it makes me very miserable not to have Tom working with me at our boats as we used to do. I have found out, too, that Chandos is not a general favourite in the school, but he has two or three friends—chums, like Tom and I used to be—who seem to be fond of reading, and don't get into so many scrapes as Tom's set. I belong to nobody just now. I join in a game sometimes when I don't feel too sulky; but I miss Tom too much to feel pleased with anybody else, though Chandos and I talk a bit sometimes when we go to bed. Last night we were talking about prayer. Fancy boys talking about that; but it seems Chandos believes it is all as real—as real as writing a letter to his mother, and as sure of having an answer. I was as much surprised as when the Doctor talked about us having a conscience; for it seems Chandos is not going to be a parson after all, but is to go into his uncle's counting-house, just as mother wants me to do. The only difference is that Chandos has made up his mind to it because it is his duty, he says, though he hates it as much as I do, and wants to be a doctor awfully. I begin to think the world is a dreadful puzzle. Why can't people do just what they like, instead of being driven to do what they hate so often? Chandos is a first-rate sort of fellow too, I think, in spite of his white face and curly hair; and yet he's got to do what he don't like, so that being good don't seem to have much to do with it, though my old nurse used to say good boys were always happy. Well, I'm not good, anyhow, so it's not very wonderful that I'm pretty miserable; only Tom seems happy enough, and he ought to be miserable too, which is another of the puzzles, I suppose.