Mr. Channing was content to let it rest. In his inmost heart he entertained no doubt that the cause of offence was in some way connected with Mr. Huntley’s daughter. Hamish was poor: Ellen would be rich; therefore it was only natural that Mr. Huntley should consider him an ineligible parti for her. Mr. Channing did not quite see what that had to do with the present question; but he could not, in delicacy, urge it further.
They found quite a levee when they entered: the Reverend Mr. Pye, Mr. Galloway—who had called in with Arthur upon leaving the office for the night—and William Yorke. All were anxious to welcome and congratulate Mr. Channing; and all were willing to tender a word of sympathy respecting Charles. Possibly Mr. Yorke had also another motive: if so, we shall come to it in due time.
Mr. Pye stayed only a few minutes. He did not say a word about the seniorship, neither did Mr. Channing to him. What, indeed, could either of them say? The subject was unpleasant on both sides; therefore it was best avoided. Tom, however, thought differently.
“Papa!” he exclaimed, plunging into it the moment Mr. Pye’s back was turned, “you might have taken the opportunity to tell him that I shall leave the school. It is not often he comes here.”
“But you are not going to leave the school,” said Mr. Channing.
“Yes, I am,” replied Tom, speaking with unmistakable firmness. “Hamish made me stay on, until you came home; and I don’t know how I have done it. It is of no use, papa! I cannot put up with the treatment—the insults I receive. It was bad enough to lose the seniorship, but that is as nothing to the other. And to what end should I stop, when my chance of the exhibition is gone?”
“It is not gone, Tom. Mr. Huntley—as word was written to me at Borcette—has declined it for his son.”
“It is not the less gone for me, papa. Let me merit it as I will, I shall not be allowed to receive it, any more than I did the seniorship. I am out of favour, both with master and boys; and you know what that means, in a public school. If you witnessed the way I am served by the boys, you would be the first to say I must leave.”
“What do they do?” asked Mr. Channing.
“They do enough to provoke my life out of me,” said Tom, falling into a little of his favourite heat. “Were it myself only that they attacked, I might perhaps stop and brave it out; but it is not so. They go on against Arthur in a way that would make a saint mad.”