Hugh shook his head.
“You will find it in every school in England,” continued Firth, “that it is not the way of boys to talk about feelings—about anybody’s feelings. That is the reason why they do not mention their sisters or their mothers—except when two confidential friends are together, in a tree, or by themselves in the meadows. But, as sure as ever a boy is full of action—if he tops the rest at play—holds his tongue, or helps others generously—or shows a manly spirit without being proud of it, the whole school is his friend. You have done well, so far, by growing more and more sociable; but you will lose ground if you boast about your lessons out of school. To prosper at Crofton, you must put off home, and make yourself a Crofton boy.”
“I don’t care about that,” said Hugh. “I give it all up. There is nothing but injustice here.”
“Nothing but injustice! Pray, am I unjust?”
“No—not you—not so far. But—”
“Is Mr Tooke unjust?”
“Yes—very.”
“Pray how, and when?”
“He has been so unjust to me, that if it had not been for something, I could not have borne it. I am not going to tell you what that something is: only you need not be afraid but that I can bear everything. If the whole world was against me—”
“Well, never mind what that something is; but tell me how Mr Tooke is unjust to you.”