“I repeat what I said, Nic. I am very sorry, and I must ask you to be more careful. You say you played the master?”
“Yes, father.”
“Very badly, my lad. He is a poor master who cannot govern his temper. Men under you always respect quiet firmness, and it will do more in ruling or governing than any amount of noisy bullying. There, I am not going to say any more.”
“But you don’t know, father, how cruelly he uses Leather.”
“Neither do you, Nic, I’m afraid. You are young and chivalrous, and naturally, from your age, ready to magnify and resist what you look upon as oppression. There, be careful, my lad. I shall keep an eye on Leather and take notice for myself. As to Brookes, I shall leave matters to you. I do not ask you to apologise to him, but I should like you to run over yesterday’s business in your own mind, and where you feel conscientiously that you were in the wrong I should like you to show Brookes that you regret that portion of what you said. One moment, and I’ve done. I want you to recollect that he is a man of fifty, while you are only about sixteen. Do we understand each other?”
“Oh yes, father,” cried the boy, earnestly.
“Then that unpleasant business is at an end. Did you get your specimens yesterday?”
“No,” cried Nic; “the quarrel yesterday upset me, and I could only go and wander about in the bush thinking about it. I did not shoot a bird.”
“Then go and make up for it to-day,” said the doctors smiling.
“But,” said Nic, hesitating, “don’t you want me, father—to begin work?”