“Hopeless,” said the Vicar. “Too loose and shambling. As it is, metaphorically, every one throws stones at the lad; no one ever gives him a kind word.”
“No, but who can? I’m afraid you must give him up, Maxted, as a hopeless case.”
“I will not,” said the Vicar firmly. “It’s my duty to try and make a decent member of society of the lad if I can, and I’m sorry you cannot give me a hint.”
“So am I,” said Uncle Richard seriously, “but I look upon him as hopeless. I tried again and again, till I felt that the only thing was to chain him up, and beat and starve him into submission, and it seemed to me that it would be better to let him run wild than attempt to do that.”
“Yes; I agree with you,” said the Vicar. “Tom. Come, Tom, you’re a boy. Boys understand one another better than men understand them. Can’t you help me?”
“I wish I could, sir,” said Tom, shaking his head, “but I’m afraid I can’t.”
Then the conversation turned to astronomical matters, and soon after the Vicar left.