“I’m mighty glad, sir. That’s all I ever blamed you for, sir,—really. I have often complained of you in a noisy careless kind of way, as I have of other masters, but that was all guff. I didn’t any more really mean those things than I supposed you meant things when you would look at us sometimes as if we were actually beneath contempt.”
Mr. Roylston reflected a moment. “I am afraid,” he continued, “that on my side, I do regret a great many things. I have been genuinely lacking in sympathy more than once. I have often been unnecessarily hard. It has not been right; and, as you see, I regret it. The more keenly, I fancy, as my lack of sympathy in this particular case of Finch counted a great deal in what so nearly meant a tragedy.”
“Well, fortunately, it wasn’t one, sir. The nurse tells me that they think poor Jake will pull through.”
“Yes, but he will not get back to work again this term; there is no chance of that.”
“What do you think, sir, will happen to him? what will he do next year?”
“Well, I am beginning to feel as I have never felt before that after all this the situation will clear itself, will be changed. I fancy he will stay on at Deal next year, and I begin to think that we will know how then to help him make good.”
“Really?—well, I wish he could. I’d feel pretty good to know that poor Jake had made good here. I’m afraid I haven’t helped him very much.”
“Haven’t helped him very much!” exclaimed Mr. Roylston. “Though what you have done for him may seem not to have counted just now, I feel very certain that it will appear to count tremendously later.”
“Why, sir—I really didn’t do anything.”
Mr. Roylston smiled. “Well, I must not talk with you any longer. Good-night, Anthony. I hope you will get down very soon, and I trust that in the future we will understand one another a little better.”