"I cannot see," said Crashaw, "that this instance of yours, Mr. Challis, has any real bearing on the situation. If the child is a mathematical genius—there have been instances in history, such as Blaise Pascal—he would not, of course, receive elementary instruction in a subject with which he was already acquainted."
"You could not find any subject, believe me, Crashaw, in which he could be instructed by any teacher in a Council school."
"Forgive me, I don't agree with you," returned Crashaw. "He is sadly in need of some religious training."
"He would not get that at a Council school," said Challis, and Mr. Forman shook his head sadly, as though he greatly deprecated the fact.
"He must learn to recognise authority," said Crashaw. "When he has been taught the necessity of submitting himself to all his governors, teachers, spiritual pastors, and masters: ordering himself lowly and reverently to all his betters; when, I say, he has learnt that lesson, he may be in a fit and proper condition to receive the teachings of the Holy Church."
Mr. Forman appeared to think he was attending divine service. If the rector had said "Let us pray," there can be no doubt that he would immediately have fallen on his knees.
Challis shook his head. "You can't understand, Crashaw," he said.
"I do understand," said Crashaw, rising to his feet, "and I intend to see that the statute is not disobeyed in the case of this child, Victor Stott."
Challis shrugged his shoulders; Mr. Forman assumed an expression of stern determination.
"In any case, why drag me into it?" asked Challis.